Strange Days
by Afterburn Tango
Summary: Au Divergent at 2nd year, story begins in 4th year. With the loss of his Holly and Phoenix feather in a scuffle with the Dursleys, Harry flees to safety. Life goes on close to Canon afterwards, but without the brother wand, what happens in the Graveyard?
1. Mind the big rocks

Strange Days is an idea I've been kicking around for some time now. I enjoy writing, I really do, but the last time I wrote and posted something on FF, I got thirteen chapters into a story before it was pulled. I'm not sure if it was the 'sexual content' or the 'graphic violence' or whatever it was that made the site admins pull it, but either way, it really screwed me over. At the time I was barely scraping by, and writing as an escape. The only 'copy' of the story I had were the chapters that had been uploaded on the sight. I was using a library computer and writing the entire chapters in the edit screen. So when it got pulled, I couldn't even continue it on another site. So I quit for a while, but, the bug is back, and this is the result.

Submitted for the approval of the Harry Potter Fandom, I give you 'Strange Days', a story that is definitely three things. An AU, a firm M on the rating, and a story that will be completed. I already have the second and third chapter completed, and will be uploading the next chapter once I have a few more hammered out.

Summary: When Dobby's use of Magic in the summer after Harry's first year at Hogwarts brings an Owl from the Ministry down on his head, Harry's relatives take the opportunity presented to them by the knowledge that he can't threaten them with that 'stick of his'. Things take a turn for the decidedly ugly shortly after the owl arrives and in the ensuing confrontation, Harry's wand is broken. Deprived of his one defense, Harry escapes and wanders until he stumbles upon the Granger's dental practice.

After some time spent in the hospital, Harry moves in with the Granger's and is happy there. No major diversion from main cannon events until fourth year, which is where the story starts. After all, without his Holly and Phoenix feather wand, there is no 'Brother Wand' effect to save him, and he must rely on himself to make it out alive.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry or any of the other Cannon characters. JKR's stuff, obviously. I am, however, twisting it around for my own amusement. No profit being made, y'know. Standard Disclaimer stuff.

**Edit: **Redid the line breaks so it's more readable. Also touched up a few bits here and there. The only thing you'd actually notice though is that there are actual breaks now. Unless you're anal like me. In which case you'd discover the few extra words here and there to tidy things up, as well as the mild corrections.

**~Strange Days~**

"Imperio..." A voice was heard, the barest whisper wrapped in pain and exhaustion pushed past cracked and bleeding lips. There was a flash of yellow and eyes that had been concerned only a second before became distant and glazed. A car door closed without clicking in place and the repetitive 'door ajar' ding in the semi-silence of an idling engine and an only just lapsed conversation seemed an absurd and almost otherworldly bit of normalcy for the scene taking place.

_'I'm not a perfect person...'_

"Drive..." There was no destination in mind. Just a road to escape and a place to leave. If the person behind the wand had any thought to a place to go it was only in the vague hints of far off lands and clear blue skies, thoughts that in themselves had a ring of falsehood amidst the agony the caster of the unforgivable was experiencing. The wand was held as if unfamiliar, the grip wrong and haphazard, the wrong wand and in the wrong hand.

_'There's many things I wish I didn't do...'_

None of this really mattered, it was simply abstract. Observations from observers that didn't exist, or if they did, had no baring. The radio was playing, but the battered sedan possessed a coat hanger antenna and the song was unclear. A vaguely recognizable song of the type that everyone says they can relate to while they're listening but which nobody gives a damn by the time the DJ plays the next track. Still, while one is listening, it does tend to make one think.

For the only person aware in the vehicle, the song had it's desired affect though. The face behind the wand was withdrawn, screwed up in pain and gradually slackening with the loss of blood leading him steadily down the path towards loss of consciousness. What little light was left in the eyes that remained flickering to the surrounding was focused inward, the wielder was quickly losing the battle to stay in the here and now and the soft sounds from the radio only hindered what effort he was able to give.

_'But I continue learning...'_

Thoughts of faces and places flashed through his minds eye and the wand slowly lowered to his lap as tears began to slide down his broken face from the one eye that wasn't a bloodshot mess. Times gone past, like a highlight reel on some late night talk show, showed the best and worst as the old Mercury stuttered it's way up through fourth gear and crested the last hill in Little Hangleton and left a scene of horrific violence far behind.

_'I never meant to do those things to you...'_

_**~Strange Days~**_

TRAGEDY AT TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT

Champions abducted by Death Eaters

By Silus Goodspeed.

At the end of the TriWizard Tournament, utter chaos had erupted. The two Hogwarts champions had been spirited away by a portkey and were not seen again for some time. It was, in fact, nearly a full two days before the body of Cedric Diggory was recovered from the Greater Hangleton county morgue.

This Reporter was lucky enough to get a hold of an official After Action Report from the initial investigation. What follows is an outline of what is contained within the report, I have tried to keep it as accurate as possible, though I have omitted certain details, such as full spell lists. The rest has been edited only as much as my source has directed, for reasons I agree with. Those of you who have ready my reports in the past should understand the passion I have for the truth, so when I say what follows is as accurate as I can make it, believe it.

Upon arrival at the Greater Hangleton county morgue, the evidence of Dark Magic was fairly glowing across the mutilated remains of the once handsome features. The Aurors investigating the case, upon recovering Cedric and arranging for transport of his remains, moved on to investigate the graveyard.

Once the Muggles had been dealt with and the investigation had begun in earnest, it was hard to say what was the most shocking. The air was chokingly thick with the aftereffects of ritual magics and the entire area was covered in the scars of an intense outbreak of fighting. With liberal use of specialized reenactment charms and the presence of Ministry Sanctioned Crime Scene Diviners, the Aurors were able to piece together a rough version of what had occurred. The TriWizard cup had been a portkey to the Little Hangleton cometary. It had deposited the two boys almost directly in front of Tom Riddle Sr.'s tombstone. An _AK _was cast, the perpetrator was unknown, and Cedric Diggory was felled, Harry Potter, in his grief, was an easy target for the attacking wizard to stun.

From there, an elaborate ritual was prepared before Harry Potter was given a weak _Enervate _and allowed to come to slowly, in time for him to take part in said ritual. Extensive research would prove that this particular ritual was typified Class 1 Necromancy, though this reporter will not say anything further. The magical signature would be determined with an 82 percent accuracy rating to be Tom Riddle Jr., alias Lord Voldemort. Further investigation showed that after Tom Riddle's resurrection he summoned what Death Eaters would answer his call by way of the Protean charm embedded in the Dark Mark. (speculation) Once his followers were gathered, Tom Riddle Jr. then began to duel Harry Potter.

Harry Potter, was able to cast three stunners and two disarmament charms before Tom Riddle Jr. successfully summoned Harry Potter's wand and placed him under the _Cruciatous _curse. Attempting to escape upon release of the curse, Harry Potter tried to reach the TriWizard Cup. A Death Eater, identity unknown, cast several curses of Level 2 Restriction, removing Harry Potter' floating ribs by dissolving their attachment to his spine and then summoning them through his skin. The same Death Eater then healed Harry Potter before continuing with a Norse spell commonly referred to as _Bottled Lighting._

It was at this point that Tom Riddle Jr. intervened. A subordinate, referred to as 'Wormtail' was ordered to collect Harry Potter. MSCSD's confirm that Harry Potter was able to make use of a Life Debt to acquire 'Wormtail's' wand. Harry Potter then cast a stunner on 'Wormtail' before hiding behind a tombstone. What followed was an astonishing number of spells being traded back and forth. From his hiding spot, Harry Potter cast several stunners and was answered by many dark curses. Tom Riddle Jr. himself was the only one to cast _AK_'s, it should be noted.

After some time, things took a turn for the worse for Harry Potter, it seems. Each Death Eater stunned was swiftly revived and very shortly, Harry Potter was surrounded. Now, before you read further, bare in mind the situation our Hero, the Boy Who Lived found himself in. At age fourteen, only hours after fighting through an exhaustive Labyrinth, Harry Potter was forced into helping bring one of the most feared men in British history back to life. His blood a key component in breathing life into the murderer of his parents. After the ritual he was tortured. If you can only attempt to place yourself in his shoes; Exhausted, terrified, alone, bleeding and beaten, nerves still on fire from the Dark Lords own _Crucio_, perhaps you can identify with the state of mind that cause him to act as he did next. Certainly, this reporter can only marvel at his strength for continuing to fight as he did.

Keeping all of that in mind, what I am about to say may still shock you. Harry Potter cast the killing curse. For those of you who have had the misfortune of using that curse, you must know the strain it takes on your reserves. The potent nausea that follows. Evidence certainly proves that Harry Potter felt it. In the midst of the potent magics being hurled about, the reenactment charms become less sharp, but the photos that came with the After Action Report (See Opposite Page) are still clear enough to see that even as he fought for his very survival, Harry was violently ill.

Forced to cast the spell repeatedly, Harry swiftly tired, and began to resort to unusual applications of more normal charms. A spell designed for the simple purpose of anchoring supports in building construction severely injured two Death Eaters. Still, even fighting as bravely as he was, Harry Potter was still a fourteen year old Wizard surrounded by hardened killers. Let us not forget, Tom Riddle Jr., the Dark Lord himself, was there as well. Before the reenactment charms completely cease functioning, the Dark Lord is seen to be casting a killing curse at Harry Potter, and something occurs to prevent it connecting. MSCSD's theorize upon what they are able to divine that it was a powerful manifestation of panic induced accidental magic. The aftermath of this event left the area too highly saturated with magic to discover anything further.

Whether it was, or if this is a miracle the likes of which catapulted a 15 month old infant into the hearts of Wizards and Witches everywhere 13 years ago, the end result was that, as evidence tentatively suggest, Harry Potter survived. In what condition he is in, the AAR doesn't say, and this reporter is reluctant to speculate. What is known is that his body was not found, nor was there any evidence of his death. The fact that Death Eaters have not made a public sign of our Hero's demise is, perhaps, hopeful, but those of us who remember the war know only to well where that kind of hope can lead.

Whatever the case may be, Mr. Potter, I for one am keeping you in my heart with every wish for your safety.

**~Strange Days~**

Hermione Jane Granger was an emotional wreck. This was not entirely unexpected if one were to consider the circumstances. After all, her best friend, Harry Potter, had been missing for nearly a week now. The school year was almost over and there had been no sign of him. She would be boarding the Hogwarts Express in less than 24 hours and Harry Potter would not be in her compartment. Harry Potter would not be grinning that lopsided grin as she and Ron bickered over something inconsequential. Harry Potter would not be answering her questions in his newly found bass tones that made her stomach do flip flops.

No, Hermione was not coping well. It did not help that she and Ron were no longer on speaking terms. A comforting embrace had devolved rapidly into a scorching row when the hormones of a teenage boy had come 'poking' around. Viktor had tried to help, assuring her that Harry Potter was too strong to have died. But the blunt assurances delivered in broken English had contained too many words that rang of finality. The Bulgarian may have been saying that Harry was not dead, true, but the very word 'dead' was too harsh in her ears. She had cried, every time.

The muggle-born Witch was currently sequestered in her canopied bed with the curtains drawn, squeezing her body pillow hard enough to leave a crimp in it's shape. At her side was a bottle of Ogdens Finest. She had tried to drown her sorrows, but even the terrible depression that gripped her could not make a hardcore drinker out of the fifteen year old. In the two days Hermione had been in possession of the Firewhiskey, she had only managed to down about five shots worth. It was too harsh on her system and only made her more miserable.

It was times like this that Hermione was hardest upon herself for her social inadequacies. Having put so much of herself into her studies, she had missed out on building those skills that allowed one to even recognizing a burgeoning crush for what it was. Oh, sure. In the abstract frame of mind, Hermione had been aware of her attraction for Harry. It was, she assumed, only natural. He had saved her life as a mere 11 year old. Defended her time and again. 'A silly thing,' she had told herself the first time the idea of some sort of romantic entanglement with Harry had entered her mind. After all, Harry was the savior of the Wizarding world. She knew he hated the idea of it, but the fact was, Hermione assured herself, that when Harry began to take an active interest in the fairer sex, he would have no shortage of prospects. Prospects infinitely more beautiful than Hermione 'Plain Jane' Granger.

Pulling herself from such thoughts, Hermione unscrewed the cap from the bottle at her side and choked down another swallow, fighting against her bodies immediate urge to bring it back up. At this point, it was almost self defense. Every moment sober, every moment conscious was more terrible than the last. Ever since Harry had shown up at her parents practice, bruised and feverish, in the second week of the summer holiday, she had grown more and more attached to him. Now he was gone, though Hermione refused to even allow the thought that it was anything more than temporarily so to form.

Another swallow of Ogden's and Hermione lost the battle against her gag reflex and turned her head to vomit. Bile and alcohol splashed across her covers, and for a moment after, dry heaves prevented her from banishing the mess. When her breathing stabilized, and the tremors of her throat had stilled, a quick flick and a swish went along with a mumbled incantation and the only evidence that it had occurred was the scent. Hermione hardly noticed as the tears began again.

"Oh Harry... please, _please!_ Come back to me!" Her whispered pleas trailed off into muffled sobs as she buried her face into her pillow and rolled over onto her side.

**~Strange Days~**

_'I feel summer creepin' in...'_

The radio was the first sound that had reached him consciously in some time. Blearily, one eyelid twitched a time or two before the mucus crust that held it shut was broken. An astonishingly green eye was exposed to the world for only the briefest moment before shutting. Light was agony, Harry immediately decided. After a brief moment of respite, the teenagers body felt it time to let him know that, indeed, **everything** was agony. From toenails to split ends, everything hurt. A groan of pain escaped him.

_'And I'm... tired of this town again...'_

"Hmm, awake are yeh?" The voice was kept deliberately soft, Harry could tell that much even in his current state. It had come from what seemed to be about six feet to his left. The voice was male and had a vague hint of familiarity to it, though it might just have been one of those kind of voices. Either way, instinct overrode pain just long enough for Harry's wand arm to twitch, his wrist to rotate, hand to clasp at... hand to...

'Somethings not right.' The thought was all he was able to get to for a moment as he payed for the movement in spades. Teeth ground together hard enough to create a new source of agony as Harry discovered several teeth were loose. Despite the need to clench his jaw to fight the pain, years of abuse had taught him how to work around it enough to avoid agitating injury, so his jaw was forcibly unclenched.

"Easy, kiddo. Gonna' give yourself an aneurysm you keep tensin' up like that." The voice again, reminding Harry of exactly why he'd moved in the first place. This time it was only by sheer will that remained still. The radio was silent now, and Harry was able to hear the creak of a chair as the speaker shifted. There were no footsteps, so Harry figured the man was still sitting. Harry hoped the man was sitting anyway, he hadn't heard the kind of sounds that indicated movement, but he'd been rather preoccupied with the thousand different flavors of 'Fuck!' his body seemed intent on feeding him.

"Where am I?" Harry figured it was a safe enough question to ask, though he couldn't help but wince at the sound of his voice. He was hoarse – of course, of course – and his voice was further distorted by a swollen jaw. Still, his mind was honed for survival. First rule was to always keep'm talking. Every moment they wasted talking was another minute you could think. Every now and then you even picked up something worthwhile from the speech as well. More to the point, people gave off a lot of tells, especially when they considered themselves in a superior position. By listening to inflection and tone, even the way the words formed, Harry had been able to anticipate and sometimes diffuse beatiings or other forms of abuse by pro actively working to appease.

"Little Ma'n Pa kind of place in Assfuck Nowhere." The swearing was a surprise, not because of the words themselves, but by the delivery. With the agony of his body settling down to a background buzz, Harry clued into the American style of speech in his apparent captors voice. Odd, he'd never have figured Voldemort would let the Americans join his rank.

"Ma and Pa?" Harry's voice was a bit stronger now, he was gradually becoming more awake, more aware with the pain having receded somewhat. Still, there was something gnawing at the back of his mind. That little something that wasn't right. Still, he wouldn't let it distract him overly much. It wouldn't do to relax just yet. It was reassuring that the vaguely familiar voice contained not a hint of hostility. The voice, in fact, had a sort of easy quality to it. Very relaxed, mildly curious. It could be a ruse, but if it was, it was a good one.

"Yeah, kid. Shit, I dunno'. I came outta' this fog I was in for a while after I picked you up and we were in the middle of nowhere. I musta' been really zoned, dig?" More Americana. Such strange slang the man used. Harry could follow it easy enough, as long as he remained absolutely still in order to avoid another eruption of pain. His musings on the slang were suddenly halted as sudden realization struck him like a bolt out of the blue. The 'fog' the man was referring to was the _imperious_ curse that Harry himself had put the man under. That was why he sounded so damned familiar! When Harry had staggered from the graveyard, one arm dangling uselessly at his side, the other clutching a wand and pressing hard into his abdomen to try and do something about the large gash that was fairly oozing blood, he'd come across the road without even realizing it and nearly been run down by a car.

The driver had leaped out and started to shout something before seeing the state Harry had been in, and immediately switched from anger to shocked concern. Harry had been clinging to consciousness with all he had, and he could barely make out the mans words. Still, in the background of his mind, he'd become aware of Voldemort stirring through the connection they shared, and he knew he had to get out of there. So, when the absurd idea had popped into his mind, he'd acted on it. After all, considering the spells he'd been slinging about in the graveyard, what was one more Unforgivable? He'd _imperio'_d the Muggle nd gotten into the car. It was all hazy, but he remembered trying to stay awake long enough to figure out where to go. Apparently, it hadn't worked. He'd drifted off and, magicly exhausted, the _imperious _had ended.

"-ead for sure, dig? I was thinkin' I hadn't heard you say anything for a minute." The man pronounced minute 'min-ot', and it took Harry a moment to figure out what he'd said. More to the point, he was unsure what he'd missed of the conversation.

"So I turn around, you're not movin', kid. Just a bloody heap in the back'a ol' Betty. So I jammed the hammer and we hauled ass down the road until I saw a sign for a town. Thank God there was a doctor in town, Kid, cause the doc said you had died..." He had died? Harry was understandably shocked.

"I... I died?" For the first time since he'd woken up, his voice wasn't the carefully friendly-neutral he'd been speaking in thus far. The shock and fear were obvious, and the crack in the midst of his words only made him seem more like the scared young adult he was at that moment.

"Yeah. Doc didn't have a clue how long, he said he was shocked he was able to resuscitate'cha... but he figured you'd be a vegetable or near it if you woke up." Again, Harry was shocked. It was, frankly, disturbing to realize that he had been dead. What does one say to that? How do you deal with the knowledge that, for however long it was, you were no longer a card carrying member of the 'I Breathe Freely' club.

"How... how long have I been out?" Harry was almost afraid of the answer. Brief visions of a Rip Van Winkle-esque coma popped into his head before logic shot that down. Obviously, the muggle wouldn't still be hanging around if he'd been out that long, still...

"Right around six days, kiddo. Lucky think you woke up, actually." The time frame took a moment to process. It had been his longest time unconscious in years. Hermione had explained it to him that, after a certain age, the magical core stabilizes in Witches and Wizards and naturally speeds up the healing process by a fair amount. Injuries and maladies that would cripple a Muggle or disable them for a set amount of time were typically halved in most circumstances for those with magic. So if he'd been out that long without being magicly sedated, that was troubling. He must have been every bit as bad as he'd felt and worse.

"Yeah.. I guess it is lucky..." Harry's voice was soft, contemplative and withdrawn. He couldn't help but think that the School would be letting out either today or tomorrow. Hermione would have to greet her parents without him for the first time in close to two years.

"Well, aside from the health shit, I meant it's lucky y'woke up 'cause I was giving ya a week before I left. Me'n the doc figured if you hadn't woken up by then, y'probably wouldn't." There was something going on in the man's voice. Some sort of evasion. Harry was no stranger to hedging around a subject that was difficult, so he knew the verbal cues quite well. He was about to tell him to get to the point when the man spoke again.

"I dunno why I stayed, kid, I just, I dunno. I felt kinda responsible. Maybe if I hadn't been so zoned out I would'a got here quicker or drove somewhere that had a real hospital... maybe you could've, uh..." Ah yes, the impasse had been reached. The subject the Muggle had been dancing around the whole time. Harry slowly, cautiously attempted to ease his eye open again. The light that had been so mindbogglingly bright before turned out to be a candle. It still hurt, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been at first. Seeing that it was okay, he attempted to open the other one, but it remained stubbornly closed. Harry could feel gauze on his face though, so he was willing to bet his eyes was covered for the moment and leave it be.

"Could've what?" His tone had reverted to neutral again, though now it was neutral-imploring. Gentle prodding was always best when dealing with guilt. Subtlety was a skill that had taken time and effort, and quite a bit of both at that, to develop, but it had worked for him time and again. So for now he would just probe lightly to get what he wanted. If it didn't work, he'd start getting loud, but not until diplomacy had failed.

"Kid." The man laughed suddenly, a harsh and bitter sound. "You got real fucked up, alright." 'That,' Harry thought. 'Does not sound good.'

"How fucked up are we talking?" Fuck subtlety, Harry was worried now.

"I should go get the Doc." Harry wasn't given a chance to respond, the man had stood and hurried out of the room without a backward glance. His body language was nervous though, almost twitchy. The laid back attitude had progressed swiftly to something laden with tension, and finally, the man who had sworn like a sailor and been easily forthcoming and genuinely helpful thus far refused to meet his eye when questioned directly. No, this wasn't good at all

**~Strange Days~**.

**AN: **OfficialWord Count for the Chapter: 4187. As you can see, Harry's a bit different from Cannon, and not just because of the time spent in the company of the Granger's. The how's and why's will come out in future chapters and flashbacks. You will eventually get to see the grave yard scene as it actually occurs, you will see a fair bit about what went on to get him to the Granger's. Also, I'm trying to keep the word count for each chapter around 4k, as it's an easy number to hit consistently, and it should allow me to update fairly regularly. Like I said, I already have the next two chapters written, so you won't have to wait too too long for updates. I'm thinking bimonthly at the moment. Oh yes, and on a side note, if anyone wants to Beta, I'd be glad for the help.


	2. Dirty Mirrors lie so well

**Strange Days – Chapter Two. **

Right, so, first off, I changed the page breaks since FF deleted them. Funny, considering I'm using the program that the site recommends to write this. There's two song lyrics in this chapter, and one of them is more a continuation of the last song in the last chapter. The line just fit perfectly with the mood. If you need the recap, go back and check out the last scene of the first chapter. Hey, while you're there, drop a review. The song is _ Last Dance with Mary Jane _by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. If you don't like'm, I probably don't like you. The second song in this chapter, down at the very bottom, is _Lean on me_ by Bill Withers. Specifically, it's the Bill Withers version as well.

Anyway, in this chapter we find out what's become of our Hero now that he's awake. Read on.

**~Strange Days~ **

Left in silence after the man's departure, Harry could only fall back on old habits. He'd been injured, so his mind began to run through the positives. Chief among them was the fact that the pain meant he was still alive. After that, well, his legs moved, even if that had brought about a whole new level of pain to verify, and the same could be said for his left arm. When no response was forthcoming from his right arm, that sense of 'not right' became all the stronger. At hearing the American's voice, Harry's first instinct had been to level his wand and it hadn't worked. Something about the motion hadn't been right.

Panic breathing began to set in for a moment before Harry's mind settled into the somewhat familiar for of pre-occluding meditation. He, Hermione and Ron had only begun working on it for the past year, and it had been specifically to help control Harry's anxiety over the tournament. It helped. Within a moment, Harry directed his attention elsewhere until he was calm. He was able to verify that his covered eye worked, though with the bandages in place, it was still impossible to tell if that was the extent of the good news. Physically, he seemed functional. Memory was hazy, but as he'd stumbled towards the road, he'd been distinctly worried about the fact that he'd been partially disemboweled. Obviously, the few healing charms he'd been able to concentrate on casting had reeled in the rope of intestine that had dangled in his lap.

Harry was just beginning to lift his left arm, the one he could still plainly feel, to verify this by touch when the door opened again.

"Ah, so you **are** awake! Good, good! Even better, according to Mr. Johns here, you're responsive. Excellent! It was very touch and go, my boy, but apparently these old hands are still up to the task!" The voice was cheery, comfortingly English, and possessed the grandfatherly quality to it that seemed common amongst truly kind people. Dumbledore's voice, though very different in timbre, was almost exactly alike in tone. Despite himself, he was reassured. Fighting the strain in his socket, Harry's eye slowly turned to the left as the man stepped into his blurry vision. When the man came close enough for Harry to make out, he could see a man who used his age as sort of a laughable boast. He was aged yes, but there was an obvious vitality to the man.

"Who..?" Harry didn't even have time to fully voice the question before the 'Doc', as Harry assumed the man was, introduced himself while beginning to check Harry over.

"Emeritus Dilbert Thorn, MD at your service, lad." The doctor chuckled to himself as pulled back the sheet Harry was covered with and began to inspect the stitching across the gash wound on Harry's stomach.

"Most people just call me Doc though." Much of the joviality had drained from the enigmatic 'Doc' by now, and he turned slowly to gaze upon Harry's face with a determined stare. It was the seriousness of the man's look that reminded Harry of that nagging 'wrongness' that was still fighting for his attention.

"You see.." But Harry found himself compelled to interrupt. He had too. If his time at the Granger's had taught him nothing else, it was that important things, no matter how unpleasant, had to be dealt with head on, and swiftly.

"Skip the foreplay, Doc. Just tell me what happened." Hermione would be appalled. Dan Granger though, would probably be laughing, right up until Emily Granger gave him one of those playful back of the head slaps that she used to cover her own amusement. Harry's voice was back to being neutral, but it was no longer friendly or imploring. He was not deliberately harsh, but the detached quality, a sign of his current emotional detachment via occlumency exercises, had a bit of coldness to it. The Doc seemed to understand this, for he only nodded.

"You died, lad. In fact, you were in such a state that, were I religious man I'd call your survival a miracle. Had you been any better, I would have called for an airlift to the nearest Trauma unit. Had you been any worse, I would've called the morgue." Harry was silent after this, studying the Doctors face as he waited for the rest of it.

"Your abdomen alone needed more stitches than I can remember off the top of my head. Your skull was fractured. Your right leg had several stress fractures and your left was mutilated. Two toes, in fact, were gone before you got here, along with a corner of your shoe." The Doc had an odd sort of smile as he said this, as if it were amusing. Gallows humor. Despite himself, Harry grinned in return. After all, the list thus far was impressive considering he was still around to hear it. Still, he could sense that it wasn't over, so he maintained his steady silence. Harry had the feeling that if he spoke now, the effort of it would break his concentration, and he'd start screaming.

"The worst though..." The Doc paused, sighed, and took out a pack of cigarettes, of all things before lighting up. Harry found it odd. Who had ever heard of a Doctor smoking?

"Was your arm. I'm sorry lad. There was nothing I could do to save it." And just like that, the mystery of the wrongness was solved. He hadn't been able to complete the instinctual action because his body was no longer capable of it. The thought was what broke him. Panic breathing began again as tears formed in the corner of his exposed eye. His wand arm was gone. He'd known already, but to hear the confirmation was more than his composure could handle. Unbidden, that old line from some bit on some movie his cousin watched came to mind, 'It wasn't me! It was the one armed man!'

_'Last dance with Mary Jane... one more time to kill the pa~in...'_

**~Strange Days~**

Even after four years, Dan and Emily Granger were still astounded at the fact that owls were the method of communication in their children's world. It seemed so silly that, instead of picking up the phone, they had to rely on the whims of a bird to keep them in touch with their daughter and adoptive son. However, regardless of the oddity, it was one of the many things that had become commonplace in the Granger household. So when the beautiful snow owl swooped in through the concealed hatchway that was specifically charmed for owl delivery and dropped onto the dining room table, Emily didn't react other than to set her coffee down with a smile and reach forward to lovingly stroke the crest feathers of Harry's familiar.

"Hello Hedwig. What have you brought us today?" Emily could only grin, imagining this was a letter filled with her daughter's anxiety about the exams she had no doubt passed with flying colors. It would contain, as always, a shorter note on the bottom with Harry's nearly illegible scrawl explaining how Hermione was exaggerating whatever current problem she was writing about and informing them of the bare bones of his week.

"Dear, Hedwig's come with another letter!" Her voice carried through the house to inform her loving husband of the note. It was their Saturday custom, after all. Every week, Hermione and Harry would write, and ever week, Emily and Dan would read the note together, sharing smiles and frowns alike over whatever news came their way. It helped to keep that familial closeness that seemed to be at it's best and brightness only when their children were home.

Hedwig's soft bark had a pleading not to it as Emily turned back to regard the owl. The beautiful snow creature seemed particularly stressed. Feathers poking out and random places, though Emily was fairly sure that her next molt was not for a couple weeks yet. Then again, the bond between Harry and Hedwig was strong, and this was a common thing for Hedwig this year especially. Harry's participation in the TriWizard tournament had been worrisome, and Hedwig had been feeling the affects. Still, she seemed unusually agitated. Had something gone wrong?

"What is it girl?" Emily's 'mother' voice was at the fore as she continued to stroke the owls downy feathers for a moment longer before untying the note that Hedwig seemed so desperate for her to take. Still, the owl's condition wasn't enough to worry her just yet. No, it wasn't until she saw the pale face of her husband and his white knuckled grip on their copy of _The Profit _that ice began to form on her heart. What had happened to make him look like that? Her husband, a former member of the Special Boat Service, was a hard man to rattle. For him to seem so shocked could only mean terrible things.

"Dan..?" Her lip was trembling now as Dan turned to her, and the look in his eyes was haunted.

"Dan, what is it?" Her voice was shrill now, the fear had taken hold.

"Em, it's Harry, sweetheart. Somethings happened. He's gone." As the world shook around her, Emily Granger's awareness began to fade. She only dimly registered the mourning keen from Harry's familiar, the sudden shout of alarm from her husband, or the way everything seemed to tilt. Although Emily Granger was not Harry's mother by birth, the sweet boy was as dear to her as her own daughter. To hear those words from her husbands lips was devastating. It was only a small mercy that her swoon claimed her in it's shadow before her head hit the floor.

**~Strange Days~**

"Oh my God! It's Harry, mum!" Discordant screams of panic. People milling about with eyes that rolled around and focused near and far with equal intensity. Nothing made sense. He couldn't remember the last time it had.

"Jesus! What is he?!"

"What's going on!"

"Mummy!"

So much sound from so many directions. This place was supposed to be safe wasn't it? A name had come from out of the confusion and he'd latched onto it with tenacity of a terrier. Granger. Somehow, some way, he'd known that everything would be alright the moment he'd seen that.

"Get back, Hermione!" 'Hermione?' What was Hermione doing here? Oh yes, the Granger's. Hermione Granger. Bushy hair, buck teeth, smiles and laughter, bags under the eyes from studying. Hugs. Warmth. Hermione.

"Somethings wrong with him!" Everything was wrong with him. Something made it so hard to focus. He couldn't even remember how he'd gotten here anymore. It kept slipping away under the throbbing inside of his skull. His head hurt, but his chest was worse. He couldn't remember how long it had been anymore, but he had the impression that he hadn't been breathing right for some time now.

"Her..mi..one..." He called out, clinging to that one thing that mattered most of all at the moment. Even with the confusion, he'd never be able to forget that face. Brown eyes so wide with fright **for **him, reaching out with fingers splayed in desperation while a man held her back. Why did he hold her back? Was Harry here to rescue her? Was that why he'd come? Did the man plan on taking his friend away? This could not happen. Not at all.

There were more screams.

**~Strange Days~**

Harry jolted up right in bed for the briefest of moments before the screaming pain put him back down in bed hard. Sweat poured off his body in rivers in the aftermath of the nightmare, he clenched his jaw in agony and frustration. He'd been in this room for nearly two weeks now, and he was still recovering. He couldn't help but wish for Madame Pomphrey at times like this. A word, a wand, and perhaps a foul tasting potion or three and Harry would be right as rain. Unfortunately, he couldn't summon any sort magical aid, and the wand that he'd taken from Wormtail... was it even the same wand? When he'd returned to consciousness, he'd just grabbed the first one he'd come across. Either way, the wand he'd taken with him from the graveyard no longer reacted to him at all.

The worst part was the humiliation. At least in Pomphrey's beds, they had waste removal charms. Here, in his weakened condition, he was forced to do his business in a pan and then deal with it until someone came to check on him. Colin, the American who had saved him, had continued to stay, but wasn't there all the time. He was helping his wife settle into the farm that he'd inherited, if Harry remembered correctly, and wouldn't return until around noon today. The Doc wasn't wiling to release Harry yet, not that Harry could object. After all, in his current state, with an unresponsive wand, he''d be lucky to make it down the hall before collapsing.

Dully, one bright emerald green eye shifted to focus on his right 'arm' as Harry lifted the stump up for the ten thousandth time. It was just so unreal, and every time Harry looked at it, he expected to see his arm whole again. Instead, wrapped in gauze, the stump terminated some four or so inches above where his elbow would be. After all this time, Harry was relatively unsure of whether or not magic would even be able to do anything about it.

"Ahh, John, thought I'd heard yeh stirrin' Lad." The Doc had taken to calling him John Doe, as Harry had yet to give out his name.

"You ready to sit up, m'boy?" Harry only nodded, sunk into his usual post-inspection depression. He would perk up again in a bit, once he'd had some soup, but for now, he was down. The Doc would understand of course, he always did after all. From what Harry had gathered, Doc had been a surgeon in the war. He'd seen enough soldiers go through the same thing that he wasn't overly bothered by Harry's mood shifts. In a few moments, the bed was angled up so Harry was able to to get a decent look at the TV sitting on the dresser. It only got three channels, but it was much better than his own thoughts for company.

"So how'm I doin', Doc?" Without Hermione at his side to constantly prod Harry towards proper speech and bearing, and under the influence of the country doctor and the laid back American, Harry was regressing towards his less than stellar verbal habits of the past. The backsliding was helped by the fact that his jaw was still sore, so a certain amount of slurring was common.

"Oh, much better, as usual. You're steadily improving, John, so no worries there. Why, your healing at a marvelous rate." The Doc chuckled, it was a constant source of amazement for the old man that Harry healed so quickly. In the two weeks he'd been under Doc's care, Harry had already recovered from a goodly portion of his injuries. The bruising was gone and the stress fractures in his ribs were almost completely mended. He had his share of new scars now, though all but the more prominent wounds had healed.

"I'd even venture a guess that you'll be able to get out of bed in another week, though I'd say that's optimistic. How about your memories, lad? Getting any better?" Harry had been faking amnesia pretty reliably since he'd woken up. According to his story, he had no idea how he'd received the injuries, he couldn't remember his name. He knew he was an orphan, but he couldn't remember the names of his current foster parents, or if he was in an orphanage. He had lied about his age, and was thankful for the dutiful care of the Granger's for he'd finally begun to grow properly and was now much more able to get away with saying that he was sixteen.

"Not really, Doc. I keep seeing that girls face, Hermione, in my dreams." He'd called for Hermione in his sleep. So he had to come up with something.

"I think she's my girlfriend, do you think that helps?" It wasn't a common name, which would indeed be a help if they weren't in such an out of the way location. Searching through phone books and the like had wielded no information on the 'mystery' girl. The Doc only chuckled.

"Figures, lad your age, the first strong memory is young love. Well, no worries lad, I've dealt with this before, as I've said." They continued trading pleasantries for a time as Doc continued to examine Harry. In the old muggle's eyes, it truly was remarkable how quickly he was healing. It was also worrisome when one considered the injuries he'd had when he'd arrived. It didn't help that Colin Johns was unable to remember clearly where he'd picked Harry up, only that it was somewhere way out in the middle of nowhere. Some country lane kind of road.

**~Strange Days~**

John Doe troubled Doc Thorn much more than he'd admit in front of his patient. The kind of injuries he'd come in with weren't the sort someone picked up in a fall or even some kind of car crash. A crash had been his first guess of course, but further examination had shown some of the injuries in a new light. They were deliberate. Consistent with torture, even. His first clue had been the cauterizing scars where John's ribs had been removed. They were recent, so recent in fact, that they hadn't had time to finish scabbing over and heal before John had arrived at his clinic in the middle of the night.

There were other signs of course. He hadn't mentioned it to the American bloke, but Harry had been carved upon the night that he'd sustained the rest of his injuries. It was an odd mark, a skull with a snake entwined in it. Disturbingly detailed. X-Rays had also shown many signs of past trauma, and there was a host of older scars as well. His patient had been through hell long before whatever had happened to bring him to Doc Thorn's clinic. Another concern was the fact that there was nothing on the news about the lad. No calls for a missing child, nothing of the sort.

His attitude was the major concern though. John Doe was very careful. His first impression of the lad, from the minute he'd woken up, was that he was suspicious. It was not the reaction Doc had been expecting. Even on hearing the news that he'd lost his arm, John had only lost his composure for a minute. After that, he'd gone back to being polite, if blunt, asking deviously innocent questions. They were all careful. Nothing too pointed. More to the point, he'd offered nothing. Aside from his gratitude, John had not given anything that wasn't in answer to a direct question or a question in itself.

"Curiouser, and curiouser." The Doc chuckled quietly to himself as he continued to pour over his notes without seeing them.

The boy had carefully guided the conversation with a skill that was amazingly subtle. It hadn't been until the second day that Doc had even realized he hadn't gotten a name from his patient. When asking Colin, the man confessed that he hadn't a clue either. Establishing their identity and getting loved ones contacted was usually a patients first concern. The fact that John was an orphan didn't change much about that. He should have, at the very least, wanted to make sure his caregivers knew where he was. When asked, John had immediately replied that he didn't know. There was no hesitation, no searching for an answer.

The same answer was given when any question along those lines was asked. It had been four days before John had mentioned that he was an orphan, and unsure if he was currently with foster parents or not. It could have been a sign of steadily improving conditions, but Doc had seen the way John had been watching him. He was testing the waters. What the Doc concluded from all of this was that Harry was a deeply traumatized young man and, despite his friendly nature, he was deeply afraid. Terrified even.

There had been no real progress to add to his journals until a few nights previous when the nightmares had begun. The Doc had been roused from his sleep around two in the morning by harsh screams. Scrambling down to the clinic, he'd found his patient thrashing about in bed with all his might, hurling obscenities with such raw hatred that it had terrified him. He had stood, unsure of what to do for a moment before turning about with every intention of getting to a phone and calling the police when the screams had become choked sobbing as John pleaded with his demons not to hurt them, not to hurt 'Hermione'.

He had talked himself out of calling the police thus far because he was afraid of what might happen to his patient. After all, even if John was dangerous under normal circumstance, he was too weak at current to pose any harm. If he was some sort of criminal, which Doc doubted, he would be placed in a secure facility where he would be treated with no concern other than to make him well enough to serve sentence. It was a practice that the Doc found barbaric. He had been young and full of ideal when he'd sworn his Hippocratic Oath, but he took it just as seriously now as he did then. If his patient needed to be remanded to the authorities, then he would only be turned over when he was well enough to recover.

What truly worried the Doc though, was that if he wasn't a criminal, then what sort of situation would the boy be returned to or placed in if the police did become involved? Either way, someone would have to be informed. Someone should have been informed long before now anyway. With these types of injuries and with John Does' age, he should have called it in the moment he was out of surgery. But, well, Doc honestly hadn't given a damn. If it came down to it, he could certainly pull in a few strings with the local police. Hell, he and his wife had helped deliver the current chief.

Doc couldn't help but sigh as he closed his journal and leaned back in his chair to rub the bridge of his nose in thought. John's recovery rate was more than miraculous, it was unnatural. There was also the odd substance in his blood that had him in a state of unease when working with it. John's blood was toxic, but it didn't seem like any sort of infection. It was, and he could find now way that it could be so, naturally occurring. It put him in mind of those terrible stories told only in whispers back in the war. Stories of experimentation. The thought always fled quickly in the light of reason, but there was so much unexplainable about the young man that currently resided in his clinic.

Well, whatever needed to be done, whatever would be seen, time would tell.

"Yes," the Doc sighed heavily once again. "Time will tell."

**~Strange Days~**

Harry grimaced as he sat up slowly in bed. His bladder was aching, and even though he'd only just gotten out bed an hour before and was still tired from the effort, he refused to use the damn pan now that he was mobile once more. Reaching to his side, he grabbed the crutch that was leaning against the wall for him to use. Another week and the cast would be off his leg and he'd be able to leave. He was constantly swimming in guilt now, because in all his time here he'd never once tried to make contact with his family. The Granger's must surely be worried sick about him, but with Voldemort back, was it right to put them in danger?

These thoughts and others like them assailed him as he hobbled towards the adjoining loo and went about his business. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they would be targets if he returned to them. But where else could he go? Nowhere was safe from the clutches of the Dark Lord, nowhere except Hogwarts, and outside of the Express, Harry had no clue as to how he should go there. He was tempted to summon Hedwig and send out a letter to his Godmother, Cassiopeia Black, but the thought of placing her in further danger of being caught by the Ministry did not sit well with Harry at all. He sighed softly washed his hands of the internal debate for the moment, even as he did the same externally now that he'd relieved his bladder.

Exiting the loo, he spotted Colin sitting on his bed with the smiling brunette that was Mrs. Johns. A grin immediately found it's way onto his face. One of the very few good things about that night in the Graveyard was the friends he'd made in the aftermath. Colin and Melissa Johns, were amazingly friendly people. Both of them were laid back and spoke with what he'd been told was a southern drawl. Before Colin had inherited the land out here in the country of England, they'd been married two years and struggling to make ends meet while John worked as a farm hand for someone else and Melissa, 'Missy' as she preferred to be called, taught ballet at a small school in the nearest town. The inheritance had been a thing of promise and, despite the difficulties of owning a farm, the land was well established and many farm hands were willing to stay on with the new owners.

"Colin! Missy!" Harry laughed happily, putting a bit of extra spring in his step.

"If I'd known you were coming I would have cleaned up the place!" Harry gestured around the room with his stump before grimacing upon realization of what he'd done. Though he wasn't self conscious about it, he was still getting used to the fact that his right arm was now of little use to him. Since it had been his dominant arm, a lot of his gestures and habits were dying hard. Missy though, either took no notice of his discomfort or ignored it and pulled Harry into a hug.

"Hey there John, how's my favorite Brit?" Grinning, Harry released the crutches handle and slipped his arm around the brunette's waist in a hug. Cocking his head to give Colin a wag of the eyebrow and adding a deliberately saucy quirk to his grin.

"Oh, you're favorite Brit's getting' better and better, Missy. I'll be right as rain though as soon as you leave that fool over there for me. Lord knows you deserve a real gentleman!" Laughter rang about in the room as Colin flipped him off with an answering grin on his face. Missy could only giggle in response, giving his shoulder a swat before breaking off from the hug and returning to the bed to sit beside her husband.

"So, John. Doc says that next week he ought'a be able to let you loose. Any plans for after?" Missy had an odd look on her face as Colin asked this, though Harry didn't really notice. He was back to that guilt riddled question again. What was he doing? A sigh escaped him as he lowered himself into the arm chair near him. Again, old habits kicked in and he slung the stump over the back of the chair.

"Not a clue, man. I still can't remember where I'm from. It's really frustrating." There was also the guilt of lying to these wonderful people, and he included the Doc in that. Still, telling them would raise far too many questions. Questions that were dangerous to answer.

"Well, we, Missy and I, have been talkin' to the Doc about that, right darlin'?" Missy nodded, taking Colin's hand and giving it a squeeze as she gave Harry one of her beaming smiles.

"We were thinking that, until you get your memories back, you can stay with us if you want?" The voice was hopeful and sincere and it had Harry immediately choked up. Two years with the Granger's had done wonders for Harry, but random kindness was still a hard thing for him to swallow. He didn't respond at first, couldn't respond, actually. So all Harry could do was blink.

"What?" It came out as more of a surprised croak, eliciting a laugh from the couple.

"Well," Missy continued for Colin. "Doc says that once you're good enough to get out of here, about the best thing you can do for your recovery is being around friendly faces where you can relax and get used to your new situation." Missy was bold and very self assured, it was one of the many reasons Colin had fallen for her back when they'd been in High School together. It was also one of the reasons Harry liked her so much. She didn't try to dance around the issue at hand, and this was a quality that had always been in short supply so far as Harry had been concerned.

Harry opened his mouth to answer immediately in the negative before Colin shook his head with a laugh and reached forward to pat Harry on the arm with a grin.

"Shut up John, just think about it for a while, okay?" Harry could only nod, still taken aback by the generous offer. It was, in fact, very likely as safe as he could get until September first, being out in the middle of nowhere on a farm. Certainly it would give him time to get used to using what had always been his offhand in the past. They spoke for a while longer about the inconsequential stuff before the Doc came in to change his bandages. The couple politely excused themselves knowing that Harry didn't want them to see him so exposed.

**~Strange Days~**

"Well John, how do you feel?" Harry was silent for a moment as he considered the question carefully. It was his last day at the Doc's Clinic, at least as a long term patient. He'd promised to come by for check ups. At the moment he was standing on his own, clothed for the first time in something other than a gown or 'tissue' pants as he'd called them since the night at the graveyard. His legs trembled slightly but supported his weight well enough, the cane in his left hand helped support them in the effort. His chest had quit aching with every deep breath some time ago, though his body still tired quickly and the fact that he was missing a limb still bothered his reaction time in many circumstances. There was also the fact that his left eye had been injured rather severely and his peripheral vision on that side had been severely dimmed. Still, all things considered he felt rather good. This showed as a smile blossomed across his face.

"Pretty damn good, Doc. Pretty damn good." Turning around, Harry examined himself in the mirror attached to the door. He was pale, but he had always been pale. He'd lost some weight, which was a pain because it had taken him so long to shake off that 'half-starved' look that had followed him for much of his life. The visual of nothing coming out of his right sleeve was weird, but he refused to let that ruin his good mood. Turning once more to face the good doctor, he couldn't help but grin.

"Well Doc, no offense but... I am **more** than ready to get the fuck outta here." Doc could only laugh and pat Harry on the shoulder with a matching grin.

"And I, Mr Doe, am more than ready to see your ass gone from my clinic!" The Doc laughed for a moment before letting a sort of sad smile settle on his face as he regarded the enigmatic Mr. Doe.

"Take it easy, John. You're recovery has been nothing short of miraculous, and I've long been a fan of country air as a cure, but you were more than knocking on Death's door when I first laid eyes upon you. Don't do anything stupid and find yourself in need of anything more than a check up, you hear me?" Harry could only nod at this before stepping forward to embrace the man who had put him back together.

"Thanks Doc, I mean it." His voice was thick, and if he was pressed, Harry would admit that he was in danger of crying, but he honestly didn't care. Because of this man, Harry would get to see his family again. He didn't know when he would feel safe doing so, but because of The Doc, he could do so any time. Once they'd separated, Harry offered one last smile before turning around and heading towards the door.

"Hey, John, hold up a second, I've got something for yeh lad." Harry turned around with an arched brow and was presented with a messenger bag. Blinking, he propped the cane against his leg and held out his hand for it in confusion.

"What's this for, Doc?" Chuckling, Doc helped him slip it on before giving Harry's shoulder a little shove to get him out the door before replying.

"Just a few things I think would do you good. A dictating journal to help you sort your memories, some pain killers, a few odds and ends, things like that." What the Doc didn't mention, and Harry wouldn't find out until later was that there was nearly a thousand pounds stashed away amongst the odds and ends, one of which was a wallet. Inside the wallet was a note telling Harry to use the money to help himself however he needed and 'To not come back whinging about it!'

Harry could only shake his head with a smile as he stepped out onto the gravel driveway to The Doc's clinic, making his way towards the old Mercury that had nearly run him down close to a month before.

"Thanks Doc, for everything..." Harry sighed, the sentiments just weren't enough, but he knew The Doc understood. The old man seemed to understand everything.

Colin stood outside the car, opening the passenger door for Harry who climbed in with a laugh.

"Such a gentleman!" Colin, grinning at this, could only reply, "Well I have to step up my game, John, otherwise you'll steal Missy away from me!"

**~Strange Days~**

_'Some... times in our life.'_

Hermione sat, half asleep between her parents on the couch with her chin resting atop her knees, arms curled around her legs. Last time she had been home from Hogwarts, she would have been scolded for having her feet on the pristine white couch, but now it was just one of those things that required too much effort to care about.

The stereo was playing softly in the corner of the room, lending a soothing counterpoint to the crackling of the fire. True, it was summer, and the heat would normally be oppressive, but there were few things as heartening to the spirit as a good fire. That in mind, the family all bore with the uncomfortable heat that wasn't quite fully beaten back by the central air system.

_'We all have pain. We all have sorrow...'_

No words passed between the Granger's, what could be said? Tomorrow was September first, and Harry still had not returned to them. The missing member of their family seemed to have disappeared and taken all the laughter with him. Hermione's eyes, the soulful brown of her father's, were dull and listless, the skin around them puffy with tears that never seemed to quite go away. With the new year at Hogwarts beginning, it seemed to add a sense of finality to the whole situation. Surely Harry would have come back by now had he been able to, right?

Tomorrow would be the start of her fifth year at Hogwarts. Her OWL year, and Hermione could not be less excited about it. She could recall with a sort of detached fondness her arguments with 'her boys' about the importance of their upcoming year. After all, it would be the first crucial step in determining their career options. But what had been so important before was empty to her now. What did any of it mean without the Boy-Who-Made-Her-Love-Him. If she were given the chance to see him one last time, she'd hold him close and never let him go. Give in to those fanciful urges that had burned their way into her mind all the stronger for his loss.

_'But... if we are wise. We know that there's...'_

It didn't matter though. None of it did, because Voldemort was back, and he had taken Harry from her. Unconsciously, the grip on her wand which had never left her side tightened. If she could not see Harry again, then she would have no trouble casting that most unforgivable of Unforgivable curses, the _Avada Kedavra _right in that monster's face. If she could do that, perhaps she would achieve some measure of peace.

Above her, Emily and Dan Granger passed each other sorrowful glances as they held their daughter tightly. The two parents were nearly as lost as she. After all, was it not a parent's duty to protect their children from all the evil in the world? True, they had known that Hermione was no longer a little girl as such, but she was still their little girl. The child who had taken to reading their medical dictionary after skinning both knees, only to later assure them that, although there was no medical reason their kisses made her feel better, it was still okay if they wanted to take the hurt away. Since she'd turned eleven though, it seemed as if all their little girl wanted when she was hurt was a certain raven haired, green eyed boy, and now he was gone. Their son in all but blood had gone where they could not follow.

_'Always tomorrow...'_

'Oh Harry! Come back to us, please!'

**~Strange Days~**

**Official Word Count for Chapter Two: **6482.

And there you have it, the second chapter. If you can't tell, I've decided to go with weekly updates for the moment. That could change back to bimonthly at any time, I've just had a fair amount of time to work on this story since I'm between semesters at the moment. When school starts again, the workload'll probably bog me down.

For those of you who aren't sure how to classify this story yet, don't worry, I dunno either. Is it Powerful Harry? Yes, I suppose so, but only because the Granger's influence has made him want to do well. Is it independent Harry? Not particularly. After all, he has a loving family, despite his current fear of seeing them, so his need for absolute freedom isn't as potent as it could be. Is it Political Harry? If I did somethign to give you that idea, my bad. I hate politics. Can't deal with'm, damn sure can't write'm.

Actually, that Powerful answer was only a partial truth, but you'll find out about that later. The 'nightmare' was a bare hint as to Harry's power, contained in a memory of his escape from the Durseley's.

Oh, kudos for anybody who knows where that 'One armed man' line is from. I'll mention it in the next chapter for those who care about meaningless trivia.

One last thing. For those of you who are Hardcore HHr shippers, don't count on it just yet. Despite what it may look like, I'm unsure about the pairing. I will confirm that there will be a pairing though, yes, and it will definitely be with a chick. Slash is fine and dandy, it truly is, but it annoys the fuck outta me when people take straight characters and make them completely homosexual. Don't get me wrong, if you can write down circumstance to let a person explore that option, sure. I'll bite. Hell, I was 23 when certain things occurred that enlightened me on the fact that I was, at the very least, bi-curious.

I know, I know, this rant seems to have no relation whatsoever with the story, right? I said it simply because I want my readers to understand that while I know for sure that Harry will end up with a woman (I have three candidates in mind at the moment.) he might experiment. I doubt it, but this is me writing Harry Potter, and I love fucking with my readers. No Draco though. Not gonna happen.

So yeah, read and review.

**Tango.**


	3. In a dream that wasn't

**Strange Days – Chapter Three. **

Alright folks, her ya go. Chapter three. Written in one setting at roughly four in the morning after a night at the club. Keeping that setting in mind, you have to realize that I was in a 'Hey girl, tilt the glass cause today was good and tomorrow'll be better' kind of mood. In other words, this chapter was an excuse to get Harry enjoying his life. Why? After all, JKR didn't need drugs or drink for Harry to do his thing, right? Then again, HP was for kids. Which is why Harry always took the moral high road as an astonishingly popular teenager surrounded by willing witches and bad influences.

Does this mean that life is decidedly not fun unless one is drinking, smoking, snorting, sniffing, popping, parachuting, shooting or any of the other associated terms? No. I know quite a few people who really dig the whole 'high on life' thing. It's just that, in my experience, the majority of those people haven't really had a shit list to deal with in their daily lives. In fact, when Harry first tokes up, he is still less than a month away from having killed and been nearly killed himself. If you've ever nearly died (i.e: nasty car crash, drive by, breakup with a psycho ex that got waaaay out of hand), you might find that your normal hangups might be a bit loose.

That having been said, the real reason is because writing about being stoned makes me laugh almost as much as memories of the good times I've had doing it. Every now and then you can't help but take life too seriously, and when things get like that, if you don't do something to balance out you'll lose your head at the worst time. So if you're facing trouble, just remember to keep your head held high even if you need something that makes your eyes red and your brain muzzy to do so.

**Edit: **About halfway down this chapter, you'll find a long authors note. That's because I decided to combine chapters 3 and 4 because I'm only just posting my stuff on this site again. I dunno how well established I can consider myself yet, so, for those of you who enjoy the story thus far, but are offended enough by drug use to consider abandoning it, just skip down towards that authors note and you'll be fine. Drug usage in this story from chapter four on will only be a detail, not the point of a chapter again from this point on.

That said, if you're that offended, I doubt it'll matter much. You and me wouldn't get along well anyway.

**~Strange Days~**

Harry and Colin rode in silence for a time. Well, silence was relative, because Colin seemed unable to forgo music for any length of time. The current tape was an eclectic mix of Grunge bands from America, but that wasn't what kept Harry's attention. It was the fact that Colin seemed fidgety and nervous. The only time Colin had been like this that Harry had been aware of was when they'd first talked and the man had been worried about how to tell Harry about his injuries. Finally, after some twenty minutes of this continuing tension, Harry finally sighed and turned off the stereo.

"Alright Colin, what the hell is it?" It was sort of funny really. Although Harry had been no stranger to foul language before, the time spent with his new American friends had drastically expanded his swearing lexicon. Before, about the worst he'd ever done was the word 'shite' and that had been upon spotting the Horntail when leaving the tent for the first task. After hanging around Colin, Missy and even the earthy Doc, he now swore rather casually. Hermione would not approve.

Colin glanced over at him before chuckling at this and some of the tension bled out of him as he turned the radio back on but lowered the volume.

"Well kid," Colin began to say, but Harry had to interrupt him.

"Colin, man, you're seven years older than me. No need to call me a kid." He had finally admitted his real age to his new friends, who had reacted largely without surprise. It seemed that his acting ability hadn't been quite up to snuff as he'd thought.

"Alright John," Colin continued, laughingly. "I dunno how you feel about it, but I figure you'll find out sooner or later, so it might as well be now." Having said that, Colin pulled open the ashtray that sat below the radio. Inside was what looked like a hand rolled cigarette. Despite Harry's somewhat sheltered, in certain aspects anyway, upbringing though, he very much doubted the innocent seeming rolling paper contained tobacco. Turning towards Colin he lifted a brow and chuckled.

"Is that what I think it is?" Colin seemed mildly relieved by Harry's light tone. Not that the American had figured John to be the type to go all 'holier than thou', but it was still a relief. So far, since he'd arrived in England some months back, he'd found the 420 society to be much less open. Aside from the old stable master further from town than Colin's own farm was, he hadn't come across anyone who'd been into the scene. So, in answer to John's question, Colin only nodded with a grin.

"Ayup, that it is, my friend, that it is." After answering, he pulled the joint from the ashtray and slipped it between his lips before digging around in a pocket for a lighter. Once he'd located a battered zippo, he coked a brow at John who only nodded his ascent before twisting about to crack his own window while Colin did the same.

"So," Colin spoke, once the joint was burning. "Me and Missy are stoners, as you can see. We figured we'd offer you the chance to try it, after all, aside from sex, you won't find anything more relaxing." The American grinned at Harry's intrigued look. He didn't know what John had been through, but Colin had grown up in a trailer park out in the country. He recognized the well contained skittishness from friends of his who'd been raised with yells and belts. Not to mention the suspicion in his mind of what hell the kid had seen to give him those scars.

Harry could only tilt his head, thinking about it. On the one hand, relaxation sounded good. He'd known a stoner back in Little Winging, the man had worked at the gas station that Vernon refused to stop at, and had been one of the nicest people Harry had ever met. The man, Liam if Harry remembered right, had a constantly glazed look in his bloodshot eyes and had hooked Harry up with more free sodas than he could remember whenever he'd hidden away in the gas station to avoid Dudley and his friends.

On the other hand though, pretty much everything he'd ever heard about potheads had been about how it sapped your emotion and made you stupid. Another glance over at his American friend reassured him that if any of this was so, it was probably like most substances, a mixed bag of results. Some people could and others definitely couldn't hold their liquor after all. So, with that in mind he shrugged and took the joint from Colin when it was offered.

Colin could only watch in amusement as John fumbled with the joint for a moment, trying to copy Colin's easy grip and not look like a complete novice to the act. When he'd gotten it right and took his first hit, inhaling noisily after he'd gotten a good pull, Colin was surprised and disappointed as he watched the younger man hold it in like a champ before blowing out the good lungful and grinning happily. Turning towards Colin with the last few wisps of smoke trailing from his lips, John was about to speak up again when the coughing fit him like a freight train.

Colin had to laugh, though it was only for a moment as John clutched at his stomach, reminding the man who'd been eager to share his first love with his British friend who'd grown on him so quickly, that he was still recovering from rather nasty injuries.

"Oh shit, John! You alright man? I shouldn't of offered. Damn! I'm stupid as fuck all to forget..." Before Colin could get into a long diatribe about his stupidity, Harry cut him off with a weak laugh that was more than half cough. He took a few seconds to regain his breath before taking another tentative hit, being sure to limit himself to about half as much smoke as before. It had hurt his abdomen, sure as the sun rises, when the coughing fit had gone on for more than a minute, but he wasn't concerned. The Doc had already assured him that he'd recovered enough that he'd have to put some real work into agitating his stomach wound beyond soreness and irritation. His ribs as well were pretty solidly fused together again, and they were causing him more ache than anything else to do with the coughing. So, these things in mind, Harry blew out his next toke carefully trying to prevent another fit.

"Relax, man. I'm fine just... whoa." Harry had to stop talking as his head began to tingle. Two hits and he was suddenly feeling light and giddy. Was it supposed to kick in like that? Not that Harry had any experience to confirm or deny this, but it seemed somehow unreal how quickly he was suddenly wearing a stupid grin and fighting the urge to laugh.

"Whoa indeed!" Colin laughed as he flicked on the left turn signal and turned down a road that was a good 60 kilometers of nothing but trees.

"Hey man, no parking on the green." At John's confused expression, Colin gestured towards the joint. John figured it out after a minute and passed the joint back allowing Colin to take his second round.

"So how do you feel, man?" Harry was silent for a moment in contemplation. How did he feel? His tongue had a pleasant sensation not unlike pins and needles at it's edges and Harry could swear to the fact that he could now feel his hair follicles. There was also the fact that as of right now, since he'd never had sex and, so he understood, masturbation had nothing on the real thing, he was pretty sure he'd just discovered the most wicked sensation around.

"Dude, I feel awesome."

**~Strange Days~**

Colin and Harry had finished up the solitary joint that Colin had brought with him to Doc's clinic long before they'd left the forested road behind. Now they were happily discussing the amusing bits of slang that each found fascinating about the others native tongue. Colin had been driving for the better part of an hour and a half when he finally pointed out the 'Welcome to Godric's Hollow' sign on the shoulder of the road. Harry thought the name was funny, and his current state he couldn't help but point it out.

"Godric's Hollow, huh?" Laughing aloud, he continued on, unaware of what he was truly saying. "I wonder if it's for Godric Gryfinndor? He's one of the founders of my school, y'know? I'm a Gryf myself, actually." Colin chuckled, finding the bit of trivia interesting before his mind caught up to what John was saying.

"Wait, wait! You should record that in your journal, John! Something like that could definitely help you figure out who you are!" With that having been said, Colin looked at his friend with a big grin on his face, though it faded out at the somewhat stricken look on John's face.

"John? You alright?" Harry waved the concern off though, and lapsed into silence, simply turning up the radio, letting Colin make of his silence what he would. They drove on like that all the way to the farm, though Harry's good mood had returned by then. After all, it was hard to remain somber when you were high as a kite.

Pulling down the long drive that lead to the parking area in front of the main house on the farm. They were met at the front by Missy who came jogging out with a grin on her face and embraced Colin as soon he got out of the car, shortly followed by a hug for Harry as well.

"Colin! John! I'm so glad you guys are back!" The brunette was smiling that beaming smile of hers as she looked them both over, noting their red eyes with a bit of a grin before ushering them inside the house.

"Well, c'mon! No need to stand around outside! Colin, sweetheart, grab John's bag and I'll give him the tour okay?" Colin chuckled before dropping into a stoop and limping back to the car with a heavily slurred 'Yeth Mathter'.

The brunette could only shake her head with a smile before leading John inside. When the door shut though, she rounded on her guest with a grin and poked him in the chest, making him back up a step in surprise.

"John Doe! I'm surprised at you, letting my evil husband lead such an innocent boy astray!" She was giggling as she said this and Harry could only laugh in return before bowing his head in mock shame.

"It was terrible, ma'am. He practically put a gun to my head and demanded I partake!" Shaking his head with a grin, Harry stepped back away from the door and looked around at the homey little house he found himself in. The cane at his side thumped down on old but well maintained hardwood flooring and he couldn't help the restrengthening of his grin as he spotted the picture of the three of them and Doc framed and sitting on a mantle above the large fireplace across from him.

"I'm sure he did, that wicked man of mine." Giggling again, Missy threw an arm around John's shoulders and began leading him around the house.

"Here we have the guest bathroom, oops! Sorry, the guest **loo," **Missy grinned at John's eye roll before continuing. "See, Colin installed a handle for you to help you get in and out of the tub until your legs get back to full strength. Towels are in that closet." The tour continued for a bit with the ever upbeat woman from across the pond proudly showing off her home.

Colin hadn't gone much into it, but Harry knew that he and Missy had been living in a small single wide one bedroom trailer that had been built before either of them had been born. It had been small, cramped and dirty in the way that no amount of cleaning could ever really tidy up. So he was aware how much joy his friend must be getting out of showing someone around her new home. He dutifully asked questions at the appropriate places and laughed along with her giddiness. It wasn't hard to do at all, after all, Missy was the kind of person who was constantly cheerful without being obnoxious about it.

Later on, tour completed and with Harry's 'stuff' put into the guest room, they were sitting down at the oaken dining table eating some home made pizza that was, as the couple said 'Chicago cut'. Having never seen a square cut pizza before, Harry could only marvel at how much easier it made eating the pizza. This might have had something to do with the fact that he didn't have to worry about all the cheese sliding off along with the toppings when the slice dipped, he no longer had the 'balancing' hand after all. Either way, it was just another thing that Harry could appreciate about his new friends. He wasn't sure if 'Chicago cut' actually existed, but whether it did or not, he was rather sure that his friends had done it like this as an unobtrusive way of helping him out.

"So John, what are you thinking about getting into tomorrow? Me and Missy have a few things to do around the farm until afternoon. You're welcome to come along with us and see the place or wander around town a bit. You can take the golf cart in, the battery's got a full charge so no need to worry about that." In all honesty, Harry hadn't thought much about it just yet. On the one hand, he felt he should take up his friends on the offer of following them around. After all, even if he still tired out walking around much, he didn't want to be a leech. Still, the fact that he was in Godric's Hollow just made him want to explore the town. Who knew, maybe there was even something of historical significance around. There was also the burning need to discover if there was a magical district in the area. If there was, he'd have to stay on the farm until he could fake getting his memories back and get the hell out of there. No need to endanger his new friends.

"Y'know, I think, at least for the first couple of days, I'd just be getting into your way until I'm used to walking around again. So I might just do as you say and snag the cart to check out town." Harry was not too terribly worried about being recognized just yet. After all, he looked very different from before and it wasn't just the fact that he had lost an arm. Harry's hair had grown out some, and he'd begun to sprout some stubble that he'd avoided shaving off because Missy said it made him look 'yummy' sporting a little fuzz. There was also the fact that, for some reason, the lightning bolt scar on his forehead had faded a fair amount and no longer stood out quite so badly against his pale skin.

The couple nodded at this and they continued eating in companionable silence for the most part, exchanging small talk between slices until it was all gone. When Missy stood to clear off the table, Harry also rose to help her before she shooed him off to join Colin at the couch.

"Go and join the hubby, not much to clean so there had better be a bowl for me waiting and ready when I'm do-Eep! Colin!" Giggling, the brunette swatted away her husbands hand which had been hovering guilty around her bum. Harry could only roll his eyes before picking up his cane and making his way over to the couch, grinning and muttering under his breath about 'teenagers' to the amusement of his friends as he plopped down on the side cushion. Colin joined him a moment later, picking up a remote from the coffee table in front of the couch and messing with it for a moment before the the speakers came to life. The crackle and hum was the only sound for a few seconds as Colin pulled out a drawer from the table and grabbed the rather fascinating tye-dye colored glass piece. Showing it to Harry, the American grinned happily.

"This, my young novice, is a two chamber water bong with a slider piece and a whammy button. Not terribly complex compared to some of the pieces available in the general and specialized markets. However, the beauty of it is in it's simplicity. You pack the bowl," he took a moment to point out the wide blue 'bowl' that looked something like a flower to Harry. "And slide the stem down inside of the neck." A zip lock baggy flew between the two of them and landed on the table with an audible plop. It was filled with brilliantly green fluffy buds covered in thick white fuzz with a few orange spots here and there. Harry, not wanting to look quite the rube he was, whistled appreciatively.

"Good stuff!" His statement was met with laughter as Colin poured some water from a bottle into the bong, filling up the first chamber to the brim before putting the slider into the neck as he'd pointed out to Harry. After this had been taken care, the zip lock baggy was opened up and the potent skunk scent of the top grade Greenland 'Goose Nugget' was picked apart with a professionals touch and packed into the bowl.

_'I've been sittin' here...'_

"Now, as you can see, the bowl is packed and inserted properly so the two rubber seals match up. The first chamber is filled with water, leaving the second chamber open which leaves plenty of room for the smoke to collect. Now, I shall show you the proper way to do this, my apprentice." After saying his piece, Colin lifted the bong and pulled a bic from the same drawer. However, just before he could set flame to green hit, Missy's voice came out from the kitchen along with hurried footsteps.

_'Tryin' to find myself...'_

"Hey Jackass! You know the rules, last person working is first person toking!" Generally, stoner etiquette maintained that the guest was to receive green hit, but since Harry had never smoked from a bong and indeed, had only been imbibing since earlier in the afternoon, it was expected that he be shown how before taking on the task. There was also the issue that they didn't want to make him feel awkward by having to spark and, most likely, operate the whammy button for him. Regardless, Colin's expression was sheepish as he scooted aside so Missy could settled down in the center cushion and take up the bong and lighter.

_'I get behind myself...'_

"Alright John, watch me, okay? As soon as I'm done, I'm gonna pass it to you so we don't waste any, alright?" Seeing his nod, Missy reached up to pull her hair back over her shoulder and bent forward to settle her mouth over the tube. Sparking up, she took a good long pull to get it burning and let the smoke pool in the chamber before pressing the whammy button down with her pinkie and quickly inhaling the rest. What followed was an epic round of choking and coughing as she passed the bong along to John.

_'I need to rewind myself...'_

Harry, for his part, was a bit intimidated by the whole thing, but he wasn't about to let himself be shown up by a woman. So, steeling himself mentally despite the mild twinge of concern that her fit would be followed by his own much more painful one, he too bent over the bong and inhaled.

**~Strange Days~**

Two bowls had been burned down to ashes, and the trio were now sitting out on the back porch watching the sun set and giggling about nothing. Harry, who had never wanted for anything he'd been aware of with his new family, the Granger's, couldn't help but feel just as home here with the John's. It wasn't that he liked this place more than the home of his adoptive parents, no, it was just that it offered a whole different type of contentment.

"Hey, John. So there's these two Muffins baking in an oven, and the chocolate chip muffin looks to the other one and says 'What kind of muffin are you? I'm chocolate chip." Harry, who was at this point past the point of caring that he was drooling. All he knew was that the joke was funny as hell. He giggled merrily and shook his head, reaching towards the table and picking up the beer that he'd been given. He felt so damned 'manly' sitting out here with them. The John's treated him like one of them. Not like a kid who'd been crippled by fate and fortune. Not like he needed protecting, but like he could protect himself, even if it was from his own stupidity. That said, despite the beer and the ganja, he had been limited to the one lager, and he was more than fine with that. It didn't taste all that great, but he drank it just because he was allowed to.

"So.. so..." Colin had to pause and giggle his own self, running fingers through Missy's sleek locks as she leaned against him on the porch swing they sat on. "So the other muffin says, 'Holy Shit! A talking muffin!'" This of course brought forth a whole new round of laughter. Harry was in tears as he wiped at the drool that was now becoming noticeable to him even in his current state. He was pretty sure that had been a punchline to the joke Colin had just started a minute ago, but then, it had been pretty damned funny before the punchline, so he couldn't be sure.

"Wicked, mate. Just wicked." Harry giggled into the peace of the night air, admiring the beautiful quality of the lingering colors from the sunset. Off into the distance, he could hear a horse's whinny, and he had to smile at the thought of it all. His trouble's seemed so far out of the way as he sat in the rocking chair and sipped at the lager. Here in 'God's Country', there was no Dark Lord and no urgent matters of survival. He didn't have to worry about the press, school mates, friends and 'fans' turning on him with a stroke of the quill.

"Yeah, man. I know just what you mean." Missy's affirmative hum seemed to complete the set and they all sat in silence, just enjoying the atmosphere as the last few bright hues faded into the soft blues of twilight.

The idyllic scene had Harry perfectly at ease, and he was more glad than ever that he'd accepted the Johns' invitation to stay here. Smoking aside, Harry couldn't remember a place he'd ever felt so free to be himself. Again, it was a different feeling from the Granger's. There he constantly felt the need to excel at everything. He had leisure time, to be sure, but it was different. There he was supposed to be a young man. It was wonderful, to have people in his life who genuinely wanted to and enjoyed being his parental figures. It had been years though since Harry had had more than passing moments where he truly felt like a child.

He had given up on the dream of rescue from the hands of his abusive relatives at age eight when he'd burned himself on the stove and broke a glass in the sink trying to get his hands under cold water quickly. He had found himself trapped in the cupboard for four whole days without release. By the time he'd been allowed to come out, he'd stank terribly from soiling himself and earned a beating for the extra time he'd spent in the shower to get clean. If the universe had been watching, surely that would have been the moment of complete unfairness that would have finally earned him a reprieve. It hadn't happened of course, and by the time he'd been able to clean his mess and stink from the cupboard he'd made himself sick from the effort.

So yes, Harry had largely matured beyond his years before he'd even gotten to Hogwarts. The fact that he'd been forced to kill a man, self defense or not, before summer hol's hadn't helped. The magical world which had at first seemed to be the answer to prayers he'd given up making transformed into a different kind of horror. True, he was much happier with the magical variety on the whole, but still. Learning to make things happen simply because of a stick could only do so much against having to do battle with fantastical creatures and dark wizards that could, and certainly tried their best to, kill him.

When the Granger's had come into his life, things had taken a dramatic turn for the better though. For the first time in memory, and adult had come into his room and tucked him in. It had been so bizarre at the time. He hadn't been sure if he should have felt elated or insulted, but when Emily Granger had kissed his forehead and welcomed him to the family, 'son'. Harry had broken down and cried so hard he thought he'd never stop.

Suddenly, things were different. When marks came from school he felt ashamed that his were so much lower than Hermione's. She had taken top marks for the year in every subject, and Harry had sat roughly middle of the road. It had awakened a powerful drive within him and in their third year, he had signed up for every class that Hermione had, which ended up causing a bit of mischief. A time turner had been necessary, and realizing that the bulk of the extra subjects were ones he held no interest in, he had quickly acquiesced to the rule that only one person could use it, giving his new 'sister' free reign to the powerful object.

Of course, when he'd discovered his Godmother later that year, and found out that she had been unjustly imprisoned for so long it had been another milestone for Harry. He had had to be the adult in a situation where three were involved and acting less mature than ickle firsties. Sadly, Wormtail had escaped. All because of Snape. There had been moments, brief to be sure, but they had been there all the same, where Harry had been very tempted to dole out a bit of justice on his own.

This last year though... Harry sighed softly, bending over to pick up the baggy of Bugler tobacco and fish out one of the 'dags' already rolled therein. He had tried his first cigarette today as well, and found them to be nasty in general, though they went along wonderfully when one was pleasantly out of there head. He caught Missy's mildly reproachful glare and chuckled softly. Tobacco had been the one thing today that he'd done with the couple that Missy didn't approve of, ironic, since it was the most legal out of the bad habits he'd participated in. She didn't mind that Colin smoked, he had since she'd known him apparently, so she had a hard time picturing him without.

"What's the sigh for, Johnny-boy?" Colin's voice was quiet and tired. Despite the fact that it wasn't really all that late, farm days started early and Colin had been up at five am to put in a solid eight hours work before he'd gone to pick up Harry. He would be getting up even earlier in the morning.

Hearing the name that he'd been given by Doc and taken up whole heartedly by the couple who sat only a few feet away from him, Harry couldn't help but shake his head. He'd thought to hide away completely for a bit. After the year he'd had, didn't he deserve it? After all, with the tournament going on, he'd needed far more than his fair share of calming droughts to handle the stress of his full course load and additional training. Still, here he was with some of the nicest people he'd ever met, who were treating him like the adult Harry felt he should be treated as, and he was continuing to childishly hide away. Here, at least, with these people, he could be just...

"Harry."

There was a mild stir as the couple straightened up a bit and a bleary, "Huh?" rang out in stereo from Melissa and Colin both.

"My name. It's Harry, Harry Potter."

**~Strange days~**

**Official Word Count: **4786

Alright, so I was tempted to put the exploration of the town in this chapter, but I decided against that. It was rather long. What was the point of this chapter, you may ask? Well, I felt that Harry needed a chance to relax for a bit before life begins to mess with him again. For those of you who don't approve of the 'heavy' drug usage in this chapter, chill out. For one, it's reefer. Nothing heavy about that except your head when you're good and baked. For another, I've though, since the fourth book came out actually, that if anyone could benefit from a bowl or three, it would be Harry.

I am a stoner, if you can't tell. Not currently practicing, true, but the fact remains that I am one. A stoner is somewhat like an alcoholic in that you either are one, or you are not. You are never a former stoner, or an ex stoner, you are simply one who no longer partakes for whatever reason. The major difference is that alcoholism is a serious addiction and is often devastating. I'm not gonna get into some rant about it because I honestly don't care that much. Reefer, Alcohol, Ecstasy, anything you take to alter your perception for good or ill can be one of two things, a habit or an addiction.

In this story, Harry will have a habit or two. Writing about a habit is fun and livens things up, writing about an addiction is often heavy on the drama. For instance, if you're in the habit of heading out to the bar with friends on Friday after work, you can write about some funny shit that happens. Like your good friend getting hitting on what he thought was a woman, or better yet, successfully picking up what he thought was a woman.

Writing about an addiction means telling about being passed out on the bathroom floor, shivering uncontrollably while your cheek presses into cold tile and drying vomit. Waking up in that situation and knowing you have to go to work no matter that your whole body's cold, your abdomen hurts because you pushed the line again and your liver's having trouble scrubbing out the toxins. You can't call in because you've already woken up in similar situations twice this month and called in both times.

That's an addiction. See the difference? I like writing about Habits. They're much more amusing.

Song was 'Only God Knows Why' by Kid Rock by the by.

**~ Strange Days ~**

**Note; **As I said, combining these two chapters so that the third isn't just for my amusement alone.

Here we have the fourth chapter, ladies and gents. I won't say much about it, because I've been writing entirely too much before the chapters begin anyway. Suffice it to say that story truly begins with this one.

**~Strange Days~**

"Vous ça aimez, mon amour ?" That voiced rolled across his brain and left him breathless. Whispered by carmine lips that brushed across the cusp of his ear as featherlight finger tips trailed across his abdomen, tracing the inflamed length of his erection. A shudder wracked him, making his spine bend which only served to increase her teasing touches. Perfectly manicured nails sunk ever so gently into the pulsing purple head of his cock, eliciting a noise that might have been a gasp, might have been a growl.

_'I loose all control...'_

Green eyes smoldered as his head tilted to the side - all the better to watch you, my dear – and tilted his body, trying to angle his hips so her hand was forced to end the charade and finally grip him. He was willing to play her game but the fucking minx hadn't even taken up the controls yet!

_'When you grab a hold...'_

"Le fait d'inquiéter, amant ?" That voice again, she knew what it did to him when she used that 'Fuck Me' French babble. Not a word of it made sense, but did it matter? Platinum blond hair pooled across his abdomen, concealing one brilliantly blue eye while the other stared at him above pursed lips. Lips that parted into an _O _and _blew_!

_'And you do your trick..'_

"**Fuck**!" His hips bucked mightily as her surprisingly cool breath walked its way up from the base of his shaft to the head. Hands griped the silken sheets they lay upon. Always silk. What else would a Goddess stretch out upon? Toes curled as he fought hard to remain largely unaffected under the mischievous glimmer in her stare. She knew his body like an instrument, and she played it like a masterful musician. It was a futile fight, and he knew it already. The Veela would settle for nothing less than total capitulation.

_'I love it...'_

"Oui, mon amour ? Y a-il quelque chose que vous voulez ?" Her lilting speech was honey pouring into his ears, her hot breath on his cock was fire and he knew he'd lost, he always did. Those impossibly smooth digits had now encircled his length and working their way slowly up and down. That exquisitely wild, erotically charged fire burned behind her seemingly idly amused eyes as she toyed with him. He would have to beg... but somehow, as that beautifully pink tongue slipped out travel across those luscious lips, the thought of demeaning himself for her pleasure suddenly didn't seem so bad.

_'When you...'_

"Please Fleur.. I need you..." He could barely understand himself now. That old animal ache had taken control. All that mattered was satisfaction of the beast. Of course, he could turn the tables on her any time, and he knew she would love it if he did. She would love it just as much as if he let her maintain control. But there was always something special when he let the bitch have her way.

"Oui, l'amant, que vous faites." There was victory in her eyes, but it didn't matter a bit as she lowered her head slowly, those intense eyes locked onto his as her tongue darted out...

_'**Lick**...'_

Harry jerked awake at the worst fucking time imaginable, his right stump flailing momentarily as sleep and lust fogged his brain and old instincts beat new. It took him a painful few seconds, teetering on the edge all the while, for him to remember where he was and what was going on. Franticly his left arm tossed the covers aside and wrapped around his throbbing erection to give a few shaky jerks as his eyes nearly rolled back in his head.

Picturing that fucking beautiful blond and trying to hold onto the dream for just a moment longer, he nearly whimpered. His right arm had held the coordination for nearly everything he did with his hands, and the left couldn't quite get the right stroke. Harry grew more frantic for a moment as he nearly lost the edge before the pure need of the moment seemed to finally win out and a satisfied sigh escaped him as he grit his teeth and let his eyes flutter shut as he came into the warm embrace of his first love.

After a minute of contented silence, enjoying the post-orgasmic bliss, Harry let his eyes open back up and sighed softly as he looked down at the mess he'd made. It was at this moment that he remembered the fact that he was in a guest room, not his room back at the Granger's or behind the silenced curtains of his bed in the dorms. These were not his sheets to soil and, after two months without release, they were rather soiled indeed.

"Bollocks..." With all the stress of the tournament going on and then with his recovery, it had been forever since he'd been in a hump and it showed in a rather messy fashion. With a sigh, Harry climbed out of bed slowly and proceeded to gather up his sheets. The Doc had supplied him with the outfit upon his release, but all of Harry's clothes were still back in his trunk, which he assumed had been transported back home with the Granger's by now. He would have to figure out what he was gonna do for money soon, because the 'inside out' method was only really good for a day. He could stretch it to four and had routinely gone for a week in a single pair living at the Dursley's. But, since he'd slept in his boxers, they too were now sticky and covered in a fair amount of ropes.

A sigh escaped Harry as he slipped his jeans from yesterday back on, finding the process more difficult than usual since he had to desperately avoid zipping himself up in the process. Buttons at least, had proven far easier than Harry had expected when he'd first put the jeans on the day previous. Still and all, the process of not only relearning how to coordinate was made even harder by the fact that he couldn't give in to his frustration and simply use the other hand. Speaking of which...

Harry unwound the bandage on his stump and stared at the nasty looking scar tissue and stitch work poking out before sighing and adding his bandage to the pile. A moment later, he'd retrieved one of the rolls from the bag the Doc had given him and set to work. After about five minutes of complications, the task was done and Harry looked about the room for a moment before flopping back down on the bed with a sigh. His dreams, it seemed to him, were off.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate a good wank as much as the next man, no, not at all. Point of fact, he was very much relieved to have had one of the Champions visit him in in his dream scape. Well, Harry might have been less relieved if it had been Victor, but he wasn't sure that even when it was most potent, his guilt would be twisted would have sent Cedric along to help him rub one out.

A slow sigh escaped him at the tail end of that thought. He was truly going to hell someday if that was the attitude he was going to put one when it came to a bloke's death.

"Fuck, Ced." Harry pounded the mattress once before biting the fist that had done the deed. "Why oh why did I have to be such a nice guy about it, and why did you have to let me?" Granted, it seemed a silly thing to ask someone to turn down a chance to be a co-champion to such an event as the TriWizard Tournament. Still...

Harry sighed softly again and closed his eyes, unwittingly allowing his mind to return to that night. The potency of his magic that night had scared him. Familiar Ash and Chinese Fireball heart string wand in hand, he'd sent the best and brightest of the unforgivables against the good bad and ugly of Voldemort's Inner Circle. The worst part was, it felt _good. _Not that he hadn't been sick to his stomach, mind. His wand had buckled under the strain of numerous killing curses and the magical backlash of such negative energy had turned his stomach inside out.

"Good? No, that's not quite right..." Harry's mumbles went no further than his own ears as he continued to relieve that night. Hearing the wild taunts and laughter of the Death Eater's present. It wasn't that the curses themselves had felt anything but vile, it was that for the first time in the entire farce of a battle, he had seen fear in the eyes of his opponents. Harry reveled in that for a moment, following the path of a brilliantly green streak of magic as it impacted against someone's chest. The eyes behind the mask going wide before becoming empty.

Suddenly, Harry shot up out of bed, turned over and was violently sick on the floor. He had taken a man's life. He had become a murderer!

"No, no! I'm not a murderer! They were trying to kill me! They killed Ced! I am not a murderer!" But of course, when one's moral compass is on the line, truth can feel very similar to justification. Harry wept.

**~Strange Days~**

The door to Harry's guest room slowly swung open and a haggard boy followed it's motion with puffy red eyes and a hangdog look about him. There was only one thing he wanted at the moment, and he had an idea where to get it. After all, he'd been laughing his head off last night, right? Who was to say that it couldn't help him now?

Stumbling down the hall, Harry came to the living room and cracked open the humidor full of twists that he had seen the night previous, greedily snatching the cover off and grabbing one before taking hold of the bic found within. A moment later, with a series of coughs, Harry had begun to partake. He would later find though, that despite the fact that he was very high, he was no less depressed than before. So with a sigh, he stood up and headed out the front door. Colin and Missy had explained it to him before; when you're very high, smoking anymore is a waste. Harry didn't want to take advantage of his new friends, so he decided to let the fresh air do what it could for his mood and made his way outside to the Golf Cart parked in the open garage.

From what he could remember, they were about two miles outside of Godric's Hollow proper, and Harry needed to take a right once he'd left the driveway. So with these simple directions in mind, Harry dropped into the driver seat. When pressing the gas wielded no result, even after turning the key, Harry looked around before noticing a little lever between the seats in the club car. It had three notes above it, each with a notch indicating where it would go.

"Simple enough." Harry twisted about to reach over with his lift hand to slide the lever over to 'Drive' as opposed to 'Neutral'. That taken care of, the little golf cart sped out of the garage and began making it's way into the town that would spell yet more drastic changes for one Harry Potter.

**~Strange Days~**

Though town proper wasn't all that far as the crow flies, when making the trip from the John's farm in an electric Club Car it was long enough for certain thoughts to creep back in. That night in the graveyard was still startlingly clear in his mind. From the moment Cedric had spoken his last words, 'Wands out, you reckon?', to when the brilliantly pink spell had stuck his wand arm and rendered it useless.

His body bore the scars of a battle fought with morals. Along his back, between his shoulder blades and trailing down to his left hip was a spiderweb of burnt and twisted skin. According to Doc, it was nigh upon impossible that he could even twist about properly. The heat from such a wound should have boiled the fluids in his spinal disks if not the actual nerve pathways. Yet, from the moment Harry had gained the strength to sit up, he'd shown no such inhibition. His abdomen prominently featured the purple crevice that was the remains of the entrails expelling curse. In hindsight, despite the clarity of the rest of the night, Harry couldn't even begin to recall healing such a thing. Truthfully, it was far beyond his abilities to do so.

His right leg was a mass of ropey scars and discoloration. Doc had assured him that such things could be smoothed over with plastic surgery. The problem was that it was expensive and rather specialized. Doc's expertise was in pulling men from Death's door and keeping them back. The man wasn't into what he called, 'Prettifying surgery.' Harry pondered looking into it once he'd rejoined the magical world. After all, he figured he had the resources for a bit of touching up. Besides, who's to say that the Healers couldn't just apply a balm and wave a wand to make everything look smooth?

These thoughts and others like them were a nice distraction of course, but Harry's conscious wouldn't let him avoid the argument he'd begun with himself that morning. What did his actions make him? He had, after all, deliberately killed a man, two in fact, before that curse had hit him in the elbow and twisted the world around him in darkness. That was where the startling clarity of the memory began to become vague. Harry was aware that he'd stumbled for only a moment before snatching his wand up in his left hand and renewing the fight with a fierceness that Harry could only think was in his imagination.

There was, especially absurd, the brief image of Voldemort's face twisting in fear as Harry sent a blinding white spell from the wand in his hand. Voldemort had only just made it out of the path of the spell in time to avoid the fates of the two men behind him. When the white spell passed through them, they hadn't collapsed, hadn't died, they had simply vanished with twin screams. Recalling this, Harry could only snort in morbid amusement.

"Of course, Harry. All you have to do to make Dark Lords scatter is wave a wand." He knew it was all in his head, but even discounting the wild imaginings, he couldn't come up with an explanation for how he was still alive. He'd come to in the graveyard, sick with blood loss, going into shock and unarmed. The Death Eaters were all either unconscious or dead around him and it had scared him so badly that he'd done his level best to flee. His level best of course, was barely a shuffle and if Colin hadn't been driving by, Harry doubted he would have made it more than a half mile from the grave yard before the adrenaline stopped being enough to keep him upright.

That was another problem on his worn shoulders. He had put his new friend under the _imperious_ curse. Granted, he hadn't known Colin would be a new friend at the time, but still. The fact that he had done it bothered him. It actually bothered him more than the two men he had knowingly killed. As for them, Harry was beginning to accept the fact that it had come down to him or them, and life had taught Harry that he was a survivor. At four years old, Vernon Dursley had broken his jaw and thrown him down the stairs into the basement.

The incident had been when Petunia, his wonderful aunt, had been away with her son to some convention or another. Petunia, much as Harry despised the woman, wasn't so terrible that she would abide by the horrible physical abuse in person. Criminal neglect she could stomach, but Petunia had intervened on more than one occasion when Vernon's 'discipline' had gone beyond a few ham handed smacks around the room.

So, at four years old, Harry had crawled behind the boiler in the basement and stayed as still as death for two days while his drunken uncle raged around the basement hurling obscenities and kicking boxes. By the time Vernon had sobered up, he had to go to work. Still, Harry had remained shivering in place as forces beyond his knowing knit the bones in his jaw and set his three cracked ribs. When Petunia and Dudley had arrived home, Harry had crawled out from his spot and retreated to the safety of his cupboard, content that, if nothing else, further violence would be a while in coming.

After that, Harry's instincts for self preservation truly began to develop. He had dealt with discomfort that bordered on excruciating, hiding in the storm drains when his aunt was away and willfully going for days without food if it meant he avoided the attentions of his less than stellar family. As he grew older, he learned the skills that kept him alive despite Vernon's best and Dudley's just begun efforts to see to it that a different end result was achieved. Eventually, the beatings had nearly ceased. Harry had learned to mask his facial expressions, lie through his teeth and gauge to an almost scary accuracy the exact limits to his uncle's patience.

When these new instincts weren't enough to keep him safe, Harry learned to adjust his body in minute amounts to change a kidney punch into the more benign areas of his abdomen that, while still painful, didn't have him sobbing quietly as his urine ran red. It was enough, it had had to be after all. No matter how much Harry wished to fight back, he was more than aware of the fact that, had he ever raised a fist in anger against his cousin or uncle, the repercussions would have been severe enough that Harry might not have survived.

This lifestyle had served him well enough until he was nearing his thirteenth birthday. Harry, the survivor, was given a direct threat to his life. Dudley had discovered alcohol.

Harry shook off the memory before it could start, his chest already tight as his breath began to edge towards panic and his adrenaline began to dump into his system. He refused to relieve that terrible day, or the nightmare that followed it. All that mattered was that he had gone to live with the Granger's because of it, and he was happier than he'd ever been thanks to them.

"Damn." Thinking of the Granger's again, Harry was hit with a new wave of guilt. His adoptive parents and sister were probably sick with worry about him. This at least, he could do something about. Harry's knowledge of geography wasn't great, but his association with Hedwig had given him a fair capacity in judging delivery times. He could summon Hedwig now and expect her roughly five hours afterwards. That gave him more than enough time to get somewhere isolated to await his familiar.

Harry knew he could count on the snowy owl to be discreet. Hedwig was his familiar after all. She would sense the urgency of his request, his need for her to be unseen. For an arrogant creature such as the oft admired Hedwig, the owl could be as elusive as one of those Crumple Horned Snorcacks that Luna was always going on about. 'Yes', Harry decided, 'I'll have plenty of time to look around town before she gets here.'

Decision made, Harry opened his mind to the familiar presence of his familiar and gave a 'tug' against the bond that existed between him and his first true friend.

**~Strange Days~**

The town of Godric's Hallow was a quaint village, just large enough to be called a town. The entirety of the town proper only included some hundred houses, a single school building with another brick building attached to it via a covered walkway that served as Town Hall, Police station and library. Two gas stations, one serving diesel exclusively in addition to being the towns garage, the other serving the more pedestrian needs of those who didn't, as Colin had laughingly explained on the way in, 'work for a living'. The grocery store was scarcely more than a general store, and only the main street was fully paved from start to finish.

The sheer simplicity of it was what made the sight in front of Harry Potter that much more unbelievable. Less than twenty feet from where the Club Car was parked stood a house turned monument. The back right corner of the second story was missing. Not, that is to say, that it was excluded from the building design. No, there was simply a ragged whole with weather worn boards and rotted beams sticking out here and there. None of these things were truly that impressive really. Harry imagined that in the wake of the second world war, he could find many such houses, left as they were to show the brutality of war and how it had affected lives.

No, what had him standing there, slack jawed and entranced, was the fact that in this otherwise unremarkable town, this home alone was saturated in magic. A sign stood in front of the house, and the mild tingle emanating from it had Harry thinking it was cloaked in a muggle repelling ward with a 'notice me not' anchorage charm. Coming upon the house, Harry had been curious the moment he'd driven across a perimeter ward.

The presence of magic had been alarming, though the house looked abandoned, so Harry had been willing to examine it closer. It wasn't until he'd come across the sign, or rather, the sign that was closer to the house and covered in those subtle wards.

_Number 119, Dori Street_

_Godric's Hallow_

_This House stands as testament_

_against evil so foul._

_It was here that the Potter's_

_(James William Potter – Age 23)_

_(Lily Madison Potter Ne Evans – Age 23)_

_Made their last stand against the Dark Lord._

_Though their lives were lost,_

_they have given us the gift of peace._

_For this, we, the people of the Magical World,_

_Owe them nothing less than our eternal gratitude._

_Rest In Peace._

Harry stood as still as a statue as he read and reread the words on the sign. Truthfully, he hadn't even looked at the muggle sign yet. He didn't feel the need to at the moment. He was unable to comprehend the twist of fate that had him standing here in front of the place that been the only place he'd been loved and wanted in the first thirteen years of his life. This was the very building where his parents had died. The very building where Voldemort had murdered his parents in cold blood and had then attempted to do the same to him, only to find himself forcefully expelled from his body and left to wander the world as a malignant spirit.

Harry found himself drawn to the house in a way he could not explain, his body seemed to move of it's own accord. Five steps forward and reality flickered for the barest moments, bringing with it specters of the past. A man with eyes of an unnatural color stepped forward from the very spot his body paused, sending ripples through the air around with each movement. This man paused and turned his head a fraction, saying something to a follower who appeared as the barest haze in Harry's peripheral vision. No sound was made, but none was needed. The vision ceased as the man reached the porch.

All at once, Harry was moving again, stepping up to the stairs that led to the small porch where, even now, faded white wicker rocking chairs sat undisturbed. He halted suddenly, only truly becoming aware that he had been in motion just then. The air in front of him was hazy, as if rippling with heat. A ward line. They had only just begun to study them towards the end of the year in Harry's Ancient Runes class.

Again, his body seemed to know what to do. Harry's left hand lifted, fingers contorting until pointer and pinkie were pressed into the semisolid barrier, pushing down until the bent knuckle of his middle finger came in contact as well. A deft twist to the left was completed with his thumb as the axis point in the circle and the shimmering curtain parted for a moment to let him inside it's bounds. The door opened easily and without a creak, allowing him to step inside the small living room.

The specter reappeared here, with the show already in motion. A man who, at one time, had appeared to Harry in mirror sequestered away in an abandoned classroom, traded curses with the dark robed man from before. Harry knew them both at once. His father and Voldemort. That is not to say that this man and the creature who had risen from the cauldron that night in the graveyard had more than a passing resemblance, but here, in this place, it could be no other.

The battle, for James Potter was no slouch with a wand, lasted another minute from the time Harry had arrived before a sickening bolt of orange left the wand that had been the brother to Harry's first, causing his Father's rib cage to animate within his own body, splaying out and rupturing his torso in a shower of gore. Once more, reality asserted itself and the spectacle of blood washed away, returning to time remembered. Harry's breathing was harsh, but the otherworldly calm that had gripped him the moment his body had taken it upon itself to bring him here remained. There was no panic, and the revulsion he felt at seeing his fathers death was but a passing thing.

Harry glanced in no other direction but to the stairs. Feet lifted and fell without grace. He was an automaton for a time. Guided by memory so vague it was barely deja vu, Harry knew that at the top of those stairs, he would find a landing so small it was better called a hallway, and at the end of that hallway, there was a door. The door would have a scribble of permanent ink low down on the left corner, a scribble that had been lauded as the works of Rembrandt and Michelangelo. Praise heaped lovingly by parents who doted blindly, spoiling a child instead of punishing, for his first attempt at making himself known in the world beyond the three or so words he was capable of at that point.

Beyond that door, that 'masterpiece' door, was a room. The room where Harry would lay his head down every night since he'd been old enough to sleep apart from his parents. The room that had contained his treasured stuffed animals and colored building blocks.

Beyond that door, his mother had given her life to save him. Beyond that door, a much feared and powerful being known to Harry only as Voldemort had made a fatal mistake in discounting a mother's love, a mother's sacrifice, and had been banished to a pitiable state for a decade. How strange that all this would be in his mind after so long. How strange that, though his breathing was even and his hands did not tremble, a part of his mind far removed from 'civilization' quaked in unholy terror about what lay beyond that door.

Atop the landing, the man who had given Harry the scar atop his forehead stood poised and ready to blow the door open. The telltale violet discharge of a powerful _reducto _hovered, frozen in time against the door as the specter stood unmoving. Harry advanced without the aid of his cane, steps unfaltering. It was the first time he'd even noticed the fact that his legs did not tremble with exertion, the oaken cane did not thump in time with his steps. It was all irrelevant though. Such observations were swept aside, cleaned from recall as unnecessary the moment Harry's hand touched the knob to that 'masterpiece' door.

**~Strange Days~**

Harry came to abruptly, laying out amongst the rubble of what had once been his home. He was shivering in a cold sweat and his legs ached terribly from the position he lay in. With a groan and a grimace, he slowly righted himself before settling back against a rotted piece of the roof. Looking around himself, Harry could only stare in shock. The house wasn't really a house, not anymore. Beyond the front door, there was perhaps ten feet of normalcy before the collapse of the house became obvious. There was no upper story. The stairs that led to them only contained the first three steps and perhaps another six feet of railing afterwards.

Had it all been some sort of twisted delusion, brought on by the shock of discovering his parents home?It must have been, though the rational argument could only do so much against the ease in which he recalled it. He had stood on the second story that did not exist. Harry simply sat where he was for a moment, eyes blank with disbelief. It wasn't until the very thing that had woken him made itself known that he moved again. The muted bark of his familiar wasn't quite enough to capture his attention, but the not too gentle nibbling of his arm jerked him back to reality.

Harry's head snapped to the left, taking in the ethereal beauty of his familiar as she perched atop something at his side. Head cocked, the snowy owl sent a piercing glare up at him and Harry couldn't help the blush that crept across his features at her silent reproach.

"I'm so sorry girl. You must have been so worried about me, huh?" His stump twitched for a moment before Harry subdued it, lifting his left hand to reach across and gently run his fingers through his familiars downy chest feathers. However, just before his fingers made contact with Hedwig, the bird seemed to distort for just a beat. Wings lengthened and thinned, becoming mostly bare aside from odd tufts of feathers, while her squat face almost seemed to vanish amidst a jagged toothed maw. The weight of her body was drastically reduced, exposing her skeletal structure with two extra, claw tipped appendages wrapped tightly around her thin body.

The effect was there and gone so quickly that Harry hadn't even fully drawn breath for a gasp before his fingers were buried amidst the warmth of Hedwig's snowy down.

"Jumping at shadows, Harry." He was quick to dismiss such things. After all, hadn't he just been sure a moment before that he'd stood in a house that was all but rubble now? He needed the comfort of his familiar, so he was more than willing to ignore the continuance of delusion for a time. If anything, he was probably suffering from some sort of magical post traumatic stress syndrome due to all the dark magic he had slung around at the graveyard.

All he really knew at that moment was that he truly wished to be gone from this place. Slowly, and with a few agonizing twinges from still recovering joints and muscles, Harry rose to his feet. When he was standing and feeling a bit more steady on his feet, he offered an arm to Hedwig who gave a plaintive bark before contorting to peck at what she was perched upon. Glancing down, Harry was surprised to see a leather bound satchel book. It was wedged between a piece of foundation and a plank of wood, and seemed oddly undamaged.

"What'cha got there, girl?" Bending down proved to be quite a bad idea, but Hedwig, sensing her humans distress gave her wings a few powerful upstrokes and the book, which had seemed so trapped, lifted easily from it's spot and was allowed to drop into Harry's arm. Harry only glanced at it for a moment. What it was didn't truly matter. This was something of his parents and he would keep it. In fact, harry already knew he would be returning here many times in the next few weeks to gather whatever he could of his heritage.

Still, he had summoned his beloved owl for a reason, so, with book in hand and Hedwig on shoulder, Harry carefully picked his way through the rubble until he was back in the mostly undamaged part of the house. When he was on solid ground again, Harry gratefully eased himself down on one of the remaining steps from the staircase after testing its weight. A brief search yielded a scrap of paper within reaching distance, proving to be an old and faded piece of newspaper. In the part of the paper that he held, there were only a few words visible and complete. It was small, but it would do until better opportunities presented themselves. So, that in mind, Harry was about to take the foolish option and prick his finger for ink when his own stupidity caught up to him.

"My bag!" His hand thunked solidly against his forehead, garnering a disapproving sound from his owl and a light nip on his ear. "Sorry girl, I was just being stupid again. Could you go get my bag? It's sitting in the passenger seat of the the golf cart out front." Hedwig bobbed her head once before dropping off of his shoulder and taking flight.

She returned in only a moment with the heavy load of his bag, letting it drop into his lap before returning to her perch on his shoulder, being careful not to dig her talons in too deeply before nudging the head of her human with great affection. She watched him closely, sensing the change within him that had greater connotations then the weight he'd lost and the arm he seemed to have misplaced. The owl cared not for scars, scarcely noticed them at the best of times, and would have dismissed them anyway had they been anything more than mere discolorations of the skin she could see.

Her observations were cut short as her Human handed her a letter and kissed her nares with a smile even as she swiveled her head playfully away. Her human had made a habit of doing that, knowing that it didn't bother her near as much as she pretended. . With one last affectionate nudge, Hedwig grasped hold of the letter, since Harry didn't seem to have any string to tie it with, not that such a seasoned professional as she needed it, and took off into the waning light. The letter was meant for her Humans new family, and Hedwig was glad that they could finally have some peace. The month had been a long one and filled with many tears after all.

Harry, his letter being carried off, allowed himself a small smile before making his way to the cart, and from there, making his way back to the John's farm.

_**~Strange Days~**_

**Chapter Word Count: **5916

**AN: ** And thus, we have the fourth chapter. First of all, here's the French translations. For those of you who find the repetition of 'my love' and 'lover' a bit strange. Consider the source. At fifteen, if you had a smokin' blond with an irresistible allure, would her words matter much? If they did, even though he can't understand her, I think he'd be thrilled by the proprietary sound of them. As an aside though, I was tempted to string a bunch of nonsensical words together since Harry can't understand it anyway. However, even in French, you can't make "My cigarette cheese is shark free tuna" sound sexy. Well, I bet Fleur could.

_Do you like that, my love?_

_Something bothering you, lover? - _I forgot to write this one down after translating, and when I did the reverse translation to explain it, I discovered that, either the way the French speak is a phonetic nightmare, or online translators are useless. I'm leaning towards the latter. So what I have listed for the number 2 translation is what I think I wanted her to say.

_Getting Impatient, lover?_

_Yes my love? Is there something you want?_

Why the wet dream? Because Harry's 15. As I recall, at 15, I scarcely had any dreams that didn't involve beautiful woman and sex. Oh, there were of course the epic adventures, the terrible nightmares and the odd nonsensical dreams the likes of which Freud was always harping about. They were dreams after all, but rest assured, with hormone levels being what they are in such years, that sort of thing is common. For those of you who made it through their teen years without any such dreams, I apologize for your loss and urge you to seek counseling. It seems you're repressed.

Now that that's taken care of, a bit about the chapter as a whole, right? First off, the song here was 'Lick' by Joi. Not period friendly, no, but for what I was going for I could think of none better. Also, Harry's first love, as with most young men, was his hand, for those of you who were confused.

Finally, we have Harry examining his own actions of the night in the graveyard. This is not an angst story, so I decided not to bother with Harry becoming a whiny little bitch and swearing off magic forever, hating himself and wondering how his family could ever love him after what he'd done. I realize that Harry is a teenager, and that it is disturbing to take someone's life at his tender age. Well, let me simply point out the fact that it was in self defense. It still bothers him, as is seen by the fact that he does cry, does get sick, does fight against the thought that he is a murderer. However, no Cure albums were played and no self mutilation took place. Honestly, I think people are more ruthless in general when they **do** have something to lose, rather than when they have nothing.

Harry is not fine with what he did, but he is content in the knowledge that he survived. He realizes that, had he not taken those lives and done whatever other damage he could, he wouldn't have made it out of there alive. The only death in the graveyard that Harry truly mourns is Cedric. Life moves on, people adjust. Some simply do so better than others. It's like Soldier A, Soldier B, and Soldier C. All go into the same conflict. Soldier A comes out heavily conflicted and 'ruined', needing to be rotated home because he is mentally unfit for further duty. Soldier B comes out bothered, but not terribly so. He will continue to do his duty because he is aware of the fact that what he does is terrible, but because he is the one that does it, there are others who will never have to. Soldier C returns from the conflict with an erection made of steel, eager and willing to kill again and again. As I said, life moves on, people adjust. Some of them better than others.

Finally, we have the part that I'm sure people were waiting for the moment I mentioned the fact that the John's farm was in Godric's Hollow. Harry discovered the home of his parents. What a mind fuck that was for him, eh? The musical influence for the scene in the house was 'Space' by the Butthole Surfers. A good, decidedly off kind of song for a scene that was also decidedly off. You may be wondering if Harry is indeed losing his mind, for those of you who are fans of 'Insane Harry' stories. They are fun to write. In fact, the story I was writing last was actually about an unstable Harry and was, as I said, fun to write.

As for ships, rabid Fleur fans will be sad to know that she's not in the running. She might pop up from time to time, but Harry will never get farther with her than in his dreams.

Also, for those of you who are wondering about what went on in Harry's bedroom, if indeed Harry was not just trapped in some delusion, or the bit about Hedwig's transformation... wait and see.

Tango.

Edit: There you have it, the megachapter of 3 and 4 combined. If I was a bit better reestablished by now, I would have left chapter three as it was and posted this as chapter four like I planned. However, since I've only just come back onto the scene, I decided I'd better give ya'll something more than a chapter written largely because the idea of it amused me.


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